The Puppet Master
by cybersyd42
Summary: The Atlantis crew fear McKay's genius has slipped into insanity. Are their worst fears realised, or is there something sinister at work? COMPLETE!
1. Static Shocks

TITLE: The Puppet Master

AUTHOR: Cybersyd

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, MGM and the Sci-fi Channel do. I will take them out of their protective packaging to play with, thus lowering their value, but I promise not to lose any of their accessories or to give them bad hair cuts. Heads are not replaceable.

NOTE: This fic will feature whumping of the McKay variety. Any relation to spoilers or past episodes of SG-1 is... ah... well, I swear I had the idea first, even if I've only now put pen to paper. Darn it.

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter One - Static Shocks

"Ow."

A short, sharp zap to his fingers, like a powerful static charge, enough to make him pull back with a curse and suck on the offended digits, whilst glaring at the cause.

"What did you do? Did you break it?" Zelenka leant past McKay to examine the device closely, pushing his glasses up with one hand and reaching out with the other.

McKay slapped it away irritably. "No, I didn't break it. And thanks for your concern."

"You'll be fine," Zelenka replied automatically, without looking up. "What happened?"

"Damn thing nearly killed me," he mumbled, through a mouthful of fingers. Removed them long enough to point at a flat, dull square of metal on the surface of the device. "I found the power inlet."

"Hmm." Another pause to push up the glasses. "Must have been some residual energy in its buffer."

"You think!" He studied his hands suspiciously.

Zelenka clapped him on the back. "At least now we can charge it. Figure out what it does."

"True," McKay admitted, brightening. "At least we'll get something interesting out of that god awful place."

The last mission had been to M4P-278, a desert planet where molten rock bubbled up to the ground, venting great clouds of hot sulphur from large cracks. Whilst McKay was investigating the ruins of a building with Sheppard, Ford and Teyla had remained by the gate, paddling in one of the natural springs. They were apparently more content to ignore the stench of rotten eggs than Rodney was.

"I hear some of your team enjoyed themselves. Doctor Weir is considering a return trip to see if there are any bigger baths, enough for swimming."

"Seems rather pointless," McKay answered absently, having turned to his laptop.

"She thinks it would be good for morale, and I am inclined to agree. It's been months since I had a proper bath," the Czech said, wistfully.

"Always seemed like a waste of time to me. You know you're essentially sitting in your own filth?"

"Each to their own, I suppose." Zelenka rested one hip on the table, his head tilted thoughtfully. "I once worked with an astrophysicist who took baths three, four hours in length. He claimed it was the best place for him to solve problems."

Rodney gave an irritable, pointed sigh. "And I'm sure his help would be appreciated now because I'm not getting any from you."

Radek scowled, but pushed himself up from the table, joining McKay at the laptop. "So what does the computer say?"

He frowned, tapping at the keys. "It's some sort of data storage device, although god knows what anyone would want to store on that heap of a planet. We'll have to hook it up to the Atlantis computers."

"You know we'll have to be careful," Radek warned. "Dr Weir will want to protect Atlantis' systems from any intrusion."

"I'll take precautions," he snapped. "Besides, we have to work out how to interface the two first."

"True," Zelenka admitted, then yawned, barely managing to cover his mouth. "Tomorrow."

McKay was about to object, then stopped. A month ago he might have stayed up all night, but he was beginning to learn from Sheppard that it was better to grab sleep when you could, because who knew when the next Genii invasion would force you awake for three straight days. Besides, he reasoned, the object wasn't going anywhere.

It sat on the surface of the table doing nothing, impassive. About the size of a football, but covered in hexagonal flat surfaces a perfect two inches in diameter. There was no inscription, no buttons, no decoration of any kind, nothing to mar the flawless silver squares save for the sole matte shape McKay had accidentally touched.

It was neither Ancient nor Wraith, bearing no resemblance to any culture McKay had seen previously. And in the hours since returning from the planet, they knew little more than it was a memory storage device, and it gave a nasty static shock if handled improperly.

"Alright," he agreed, grudgingly. "But tomorrow I want Johnston and Kusanagi to join us. See if we can't figure out this one before we get to the next."

Zelenka blinked, surprised. "I thought you disliked Doctor Kusanagi?"

"No," he shot back, flustered, burying his gaze in his laptop.

"You normally assign her to Dewi's team."

"She," he paused, admitted: "She scares me?"

Radek's eyes widened. "Miko?"

"She hides behind those glasses of hers. And every time I go somewhere she's always two steps behind me. And I swear, the other day she tried to grab my feet. Just," he mumbled, "don't leave me alone with her."

"Ah," said Zelenka, amusedly.

"Ah? Ah what?"

"God only knows why, Rodney, but you may have an admirer."

"Kusanagi?" The laptop was forgotten. "I thought she, ah…" and he stopped.

"Yes?" Zelenka nudged.

"Well, most of the time it's hard to tell she's even female."

He received a muttered Czech curse and a glare for his comment. "Sometimes," Zelenka started, then stopped, descending back into exasperated Czech. He scooped up his notes with one arm and stalked away from the table, still muttering.

"What?" Rodney called out after him. "What!"


	2. Blue Jello

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Two - Blue Jello

Blue jello.

He'd seen it served up at Stargate Command, although in the short time he'd spent there, Sheppard hadn't risked life and limb to try it.

It wasn't natural, he decided. Not that jello was, but there was something particularly vivid about this shade of blue. Reminded him of nuclear waste, and the nastier experiments in his high school science lessons.

Standing at the end of the long table set up in the mess hall, with his tray of cold meat sandwiches and potato-like accompaniment, Sheppard eyed the jar

cautiously, afraid its contents might come to life.

It was one of the few Earth made deserts that had been brought through the gate. The small quantity of fresh fruit had been eaten within the first week, and the dried, reconstituted ice cream the week after that. On a few happy instances, the cooks decided to use local ingredients to bake a cake, but the result had a mixed success rate.

So now only jello remained. And they had run out of the red, then the green, and finally the yellow - which nobody really liked, but it was at least it bore a passing resemblance to fruit - and now there was only the blue. One last jar of quivering gelatin bound by a thick, plastic beaker.

Sheppard hovered, indecisive.

A hand reached past him and grabbed the beaker. "Not going to eat that?"

He turned, with a "Hey!" but Ford only grinned at him.

"What happened to ranks, Lieutenant?"

"Sorry sir," Aiden shrugged, carelessly. "If you want it -"

"No." He waved a hand, deciding it was better safe than sorry. "It's all yours." Then he picked up his tray and moved away from the line, Ford on his heels.

McKay sat on a table at the far end of the room, beneath the window. His plate held the half eaten remains of a non-specific meat casserole, dubbed "dog food" by the youngest of the ranks, though in truth the meal was fairly tasty, providing no questions were asked as to where the cooks had found the meat. McKay held a spoon of the substance in one hand and was studying it with great interest, barely looking up when Sheppard and Ford dropped onto the bench opposite.

"What is it this week?" Sheppard asked, picking up his own sandwich. "A hair? A poisonous bug?"

To his disappointment, McKay didn't rise. "It tastes different."

Ford studied his own plate of stew. "Different how?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Not sure."

"Good different? Bad different?"

"Try some."

Ford glanced at Sheppard, who shrugged. He'd exchanged various tricks and gags with McKay over the past few months, but his jokes were subtle and he'd never known the scientist to play a prank on Aiden.

"Looks safe," he offered.

"Hmm." Aiden forked some of the meat and glared at it suspiciously for a moment, then popped it into his mouth. After several apprehensive chews his expression relaxed, and he swallowed. "Tastes the same to me."

"Oh."

Sheppard glanced at McKay. "Are you okay, Rodney? You seem a little... off."

The scientist lifted his head to stare at Sheppard for a second, then blinked. "Off? I'm fine. I think they've been using too much salt. They never know when to stop."

He relaxed a little. "Last week it was that they never used any at all."

"And this week they're using too much." McKay dropped his spoon onto the plate. "It tastes funny."

Ford was busily clearing his own away, barely pausing to chew. "Maybe it was your batch."

"Mm." The scientist yawned widely, blowing a waft of hot, meat-scented air into Sheppard's face.

"McKay!" He pulled a face. "I'm eating."

"Can't help it," McKay excused, scowling. "I barely slept. A couple of selfish morons spent most of the night stood in the corridor talking, right outside my room."

"Catch a couple of hours now," Sheppard advised. "There's nothing waiting in your lab, right?"

He received a glare in return, McKay pushing back from the table in a sharp, jerky movement. "Right," he snapped. "It's not like there's a stack of reports on my desk that I have to read, or a backlog of artifacts still unlabelled. After all, we've explored the entire city, back of my hand, right? I've got more staff than I know what to do with and they're all freakin' geniuses, not like they need hand holding every step of the way –"

"Woah!" Sheppard raised his hands in protest. "McKay –"

"No, you're right." The scientist towered over them, glowering. "I'll just take a nap, shall I? I'm sure no one will even notice I'm gone." And then he turned on his heel, and stormed out of the cafeteria. Various pairs of eyes watched him leave, then turned back to their lunch.

"What the hell was all that about?" Sheppard wondered.

Ford shrugged, scraping his plate clean with the side of his fork. "Maybe he's still pissed after yesterday."

Sheppard frowned, thinking back to the planet Aiden had dubbed: 'Fustondia.' McKay had spent most of the mission with his face pulled into a grimace and with his fingers pinching his nose. Ford had eagerly volunteered to cover the Stargate despite the unlikelihood of anyone else venturing onto the planet, and after half an hour spent rummaging through the ruins of a building with the whining McKay, Sheppard had longed to join them. It was only after being threatened with a sharp, short shove into the nearest lava pit that McKay had finally clammed up.

It was possible, given his lack of sleep, that the scientist had decided to hold a grudge.

Sheppard sighed, watching Aiden grab McKay's plate and dig into the congealing stew. "I'll drop by his lab later," he decided. "He can't flounce all day."

Ford raised his eyebrows. "Flounce?"

"Eat your stew, Lieutenant."


	3. Minty Fresh

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Three - Minty Fresh

He forgot about any peace offering until much later. Spent the afternoon consulting Elizabeth and Bates on city security measures, then a couple being thrashed by Teyla in what passed for an Atlantis gym.

"You have not been practising," she scolded, putting her weapons back into the cloth sack she housed them in.

"You always say that," he retorted.

"And it is always true."

He pulled a face. "I tried asking Halling but he said it wouldn't be a fair fight. I thought his leg would have healed by now."

She smiled, and turned away, slow enough for him to see it.

"Hey! What? That's a lie. I knew it!" He pointed a finger at her. "What?"

She pressed her lips together, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. "I believe he is afraid of breaking you."

He was aware of his mouth opening and closing several times without emitting any sound. "Well," he managed, "perhaps you could tell Halling that I'm stronger than I look."

"One would hope," she replied, then turned her back on him before he could respond.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He followed her out into the corridor, and stood there whilst she purposefully ignored him. "Teyla!"

She picked up her pace, left him alone, muttering to himself. Decided to have a long talk with Halling the next time he was on the mainland.

It was only on the return trip to his quarters, flushed and dripping with sweat, that he remembered to drop in on the scientist.

Sat on a stool beside a lab bench, McKay turned upon his entrance and gave him a disgusted look. "I hope you're going to shower before you inflict yourself on anyone else."

Sheppard lifted one arm and sniffed cautiously. Pretty foul, he decided, but he wasn't going to give McKay credit and flashed him a grin. "Minty fresh."

The scientist muttered something under his breath which sounded a lot like 'gorilla,' then turned back to the bench. Sheppard grinned, and sauntered across to stand behind his friend's shoulder.

Scattered across the surface of the bench were various unfamiliar metal parts and a number of cut wires. At one corner was stacked a small pile of flat, hexagonal pieces of silver that seemed to Sheppard to be vaguely familiar.

"Isn't that the device we picked up yesterday?"

"What?" McKay picked up one of the squares and stared at it for a long moment. "Oh. Yes."

He viewed the jigsaw critically. "You going to be able to put that back together again?"

"Probably."

"Probably?" he joked. "I thought you could fix anything." And he dropped his hand onto McKay's shoulder.

Instantly McKay jerked away as though he'd been stung, recoiling, a shudder rolling through his body. "Don't touch me," the scientist snapped, his voice a harsh rasp.

Sheppard dropped his hand, trying to hide his shock. "Sorry –"

"Yes, well –" McKay paused, his voice returning to a shade of normal. "I don't want to share your bodily fluids, thank you." He wouldn't look at Sheppard, his gaze fixed on the lab bench, but knotted shoulders were visible beneath the regulation blue.

He tried to change the subject. "You've not forgotten movie night tonight, I hope? Teyla's choice, you can't miss that. And it's your turn to bring the snacks."

This time the scientist turned, and present Sheppard with a careful mask, a mock grimace and a roll of his eyes. Sheppard didn't buy it. "And where would you suggest I look? We ran out of popcorn months ago."

"And there's the challenge," he replied, failing to feel amused. He waited a moment but McKay turned back to the bench without another word. "Right. I'll see you later?"

"Mm-hmm," came back the non-committal response. "Shower first."

He threw a sloppy salute but it was a wasted effort. Walked slowly, laboriously to the door and then was out in the corridor without McKay having looked up.


	4. He's Not the Messiah

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Four - He's Not the Messiah

They were half an hour through the movie and McKay was still conspicuous only through his absence. Sheppard had saved him a spot on the couch, but the room was unusually crowded and he was now being squeezed out by Carson and Ford. Teyla sat upright on a beanbag, Zen-esque, whilst Zelenka and a couple of scientists whose names Sheppard couldn't place had pulled up a bench from the mess hall and were now lounging against the wall. Elizabeth had joined them several minutes in and had failed to find a seat – even after attempting to order Sheppard to give up his. She now sat on the floor beside Teyla, her face lit by the screen above her.

"I do not understand," Teyla professed, for the sixth or seventh time that night. "Is he not a god in your religion?"

"Yes."

"Sort of."

"Not to me."

"Son of, actually."

Teyla frowned deeply. "He is not your god?"

There was a splutter from one of the scientists. "Not by a long way. Now Cleese, maybe."

"Ignore them," Carson said, the only one with the patience to continue explaining the plot. "They're being deliberately pedantic, the idiots."

"Ah." She nodded, but did not seem particularly enlightened. "Then this character is not your Messiah?"

"No," the same scientists spluttered, "He's a very naughty –"

"It's a parody," Elizabeth explained, interrupting. "The humour comes from people thinking he is."

"Then your people find blasphemy funny?"

"Some of us," said Ford, who had had no say in the choice of movie.

"Where is McKay?" Zelenka broke in, in an ill-disguised attempt to change the subject. "I would think he would not want to miss this."

"I thought you'd be able to tell me," Sheppard replied, shifting in his chair to look back at the Czech. "He wasn't in the lab?"

Zelenka shook his head. "I have barely seen him. We were supposed to be working on the items retrieved from M4P-278 but instead he had me repairing one of the outlying transporters for the afternoon."

"No talking of work during movie night," Elizabeth scolded, caught up in the film.

"Sorry." Sheppard pushed himself up off the couch, Carson and Aiden quickly spreading out into the space. "I'll see if I can find him."

"Don't be long," Elizabeth advised from her position on the floor, "or you'll miss the best bit."

He waved at her, "I've seen it," then slipped out of the door.

The corridors of Atlantis were unusually empty. The night had been dubbed Saturday, despite the lack of reference. Bates had organized a regular poker tournament, now in its second round in the mess hall. There was an informal bar set up by a couple of scientists which moved location in an attempt to avoid Weir's eye, though Sheppard knew the effort was pointless, since Elizabeth had already chosen to ignore the transgression. Then there were the increasing number of couples using the night to know each other better – a habit Sheppard encouraged, whilst restraining his own simmering jealousy. That left the skeleton crew manning the control room, and the few who continued to work.

Sheppard reached the lab, considered knocking, then decided against it and opened the door. A small Japanese woman almost toppled from her chair in shock, grabbing the bench in time to stop her backward descent.

"Sorry," he said quickly, raising his hands and looking around the otherwise empty lab. "Didn't mean to startle you. Is Doctor McKay here?"

The woman blinked owlishly at him from behind bottle sized glasses, then shook her head rapidly without saying a word.

"Oh. Seen him?"

Another violent shake of her head as she flushed, the tips of her ears turning scarlet.

"Right." He hesitated, caught off guard by the big brown eyes staring at him intently. He suddenly knew what it felt like to be a lion startling a young antelope. "Ah," he gestured at the bench, "good work, carry on."

She bobbed her head several times then turned back to the bench, seemingly to their mutual relief. He left her behind, heading back out into the corridor and wondering whether any of the scientists came stranger than her.

The door to McKay's quarters was locked, failing to open as Sheppard approached. He knocked on the surface then with one thought flipped the switch. It slid open soundlessly.

"Holy crap."

The room was empty of life – although it was hard to be certain given the volume of material scattered across the small room. Clothes and papers were strewn across all available surfaces, including the floor. A t-shirt hung over a chair, a pile of mismatched socks at its base. The sheets were torn from the bed, save the bottom which clung to the mattress despite dishevelled creases. The contents of the trash can – a half eaten power bar, some empty wrappers, several screwed up balls of paper – lay in a heap beside the overturned container. The room's appearance suggested it had been personally trashed but, disarmingly, in the centre of the unmade bed sat McKay's laptop. Its screen flickered, casting shadows onto the mattress.

Picking his way across the floor carefully, Sheppard reached the bed and turned the laptop towards him. On its monitor was displayed a schematic of the control room, and to the side a list of files and folders relating to the layout of Atlantis. There was nothing to explain the state of the room, or its owner's disappearance.

Sheppard straightened, working out the kinks in his neck. "Jeez, McKay. I knew you lived in a sty but this is taking it to new levels."

He paused, lingering indecisively. Thought for a moment and tapped into the city's communication system. "Grodin, this is Sheppard."

There was a slight pause before he heard a British accent. "Major Sheppard. What can I do for you?"

"Working late?"

"For the next hour. Then I might take in the poker game. I believe Sergeant Bates is playing Lieutenant Forman tonight."

"So I hear." He lifted his hand to work at the muscles in his shoulders. "McKay hasn't been past you, has he?"

"Not during my shift, no."

"Oh." His shoulders slumped, hand dropping to his side. "Never mind. Thanks." He mentally toggled the off switch, then considered the room. Tried to think of other places the scientist could be and came up empty.

After several more moments he decided to give up the chase. Grabbing a pen from the desk and a sheet of clean paper, he scrawled a quick note: '_Watching MP in sofa room. Drop by. Bring snacks.'_ Then placed it atop the computer keyboard in the knowledge that it would be the first thing McKay would see upon returning to the room.

Three hours deeper into the evening, and two films later there was still no sign of the scientist.


	5. Kate

Author's Note: Thank you all for the lovely feedback, you guys are great!

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Five - Kate

During career fairs in her college years there had been a number of opportunities open to a recent psychology graduate. Schools, hospitals, further study, private practice. She'd picked the military, much to the shock of her peers, though less so of her parents. And she enjoyed the work, found it both stimulating and challenging. Under Doctor MacKenzie she had learnt of the SGC's existence, and she wasn't surprised when he'd put her name forward for the Atlantis mission.

Outside of her office Kate was rarely surprised.

It came as no great shock either when McKay failed to turn up to his scheduled appointment. It wasn't the first time and she knew it would not be the last, but it had been almost three weeks since she'd seen the scientist professionally, making it five since the nanovirus almost killed him.

She'd been busy that week.

Choosing wisely to not ask any of his colleagues, Kate instead called up the science department log of recent jobs and picked the one furthest from the city centre. The transporters on the outer piers had been disabled in an effort to save power, giving her a twenty minute 'stroll' before she reached his location. Found him alone, sat beside a console, its guts spread across the floor.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him sit, his back turned slightly towards her, idly rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. He was silent, gaze fixed on the window. It seemed alien to see such quiet solitude from a man normally so full of energy, ideas spilling from a body that couldn't contain them. It set off alarms, already sensitive given recent events and his prolonged absence.

Kate coughed, deliberately. "Doctor McKay."

There was a slight pause before he turned, and she caught a glimpse of his face. A strange, haunted expression. Grey circles highlighted beneath dark eyes, mouth pinched tight and tired, cheeks sunken. Then he blinked and the shadows fled, though the haggard look remained.

For a moment, Kate wasn't sure whether the man before her was the Rodney McKay she knew.

"Dr. Heightmeyer."

"Kate," she admonished. "I'd like to think ours wasn't a merely professional relationship."

He considered her for a moment, seemingly indecisive, before his gaze dropped to the console. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged, casually. "Out for a stroll."

It wasn't supposed to be a successful lie. He snorted. "Let's try again. What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same thing. We had an appointment."

"Oh." His turn to shrug, and gesture at his work. "I must have forgotten. I was caught up in things."

"Seems to be a bad habit."

He looked confused. "The briefing this morning," she explained. "I heard Dr Weir calling for you over the comm. system. You were late."

"Only by a couple of minutes."

"Apparently not for the first time."

He glanced at her, a frown creasing his forehead. "Elizabeth been telling tales?"

"You don't have to be qualified to hear the frustration in her voice." She took several steps towards him. "And what about our meeting? This isn't the first time you've cancelled on me, Rodney."

His restraint seemed to snap. "Well in case you haven't noticed, my department's been a little short staffed recently. I've been busy."

"Fine," she said, keeping her voice cool. "Do you have time now?"

He gestured at the console again. "What do you think?"

Fine. Two could play at this game. "I think that we'd be wasting time going to my office when here seems secluded. And I would hate to note in your record that you've been deliberately avoiding me."

There was a long silence as McKay glared at her, chin lifted in resolute defiance before dropping under her gaze. "Fine," he growled. "Take a seat."

She dropped into a seated position several meters away, drawing her legs under her. "Is there a reason for your choice of location?"

He looked up at her, suspicious. "It needs fixing."

"You could have sent someone else."

"And have them screw up? Better to do it myself." Another glare. If looks could kill Kate imagined she would be little more than a stain on the floor. "Is there a time limit on this little chat?"

She ignored him. "How have you been sleeping?"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Fine. Peachy."

Knowingly: "Ah." And if she'd had a notebook she would have doodled on it.

A scowl. "I sleep. Not as much as I'd like."

"You used to say you had no problem getting to sleep."

"It's staying asleep that's the problem." He shook his head and rose in a quick, jerky movement. Started pacing, the thumb of his left hand running over the right repeatedly.

"You've been dreaming?" she asked, watching him pace.

"Full marks to the doctor." He was studying the floor, head bent down so his chin almost touched his chest.

"Of anything in particular?"

"You tell me. Is there something I should be dreaming about?"

"Oh," she kept her tone casual. "Earth. The Wraith. The Ancients. Past missions. Colleagues lost. Stop me if I'm getting warm."

He snorted. "I thought you were supposed to be good at this. Looking into people's heads, that's what you do, right? Bet you can't see into mine." Paused and glanced at her quickly. "You ever think you were supposed to be someone else?"

She paused before answering, taken aback by the question. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"No, of course you wouldn't." He resumed his pacing and study of the floor. His assault on his right hand grew in ferocity. "Thinking you weren't supposed to be here. It feels wrong. Alien."

It was a thought expressed by a substantial section of the Atlantis crew but not one she thought she'd hear from McKay. She had always found him to be enthusiastic about the mission, even back in Antarctica, and was one of the few who had no regrets over his leaving of Earth. Still, she offered: "It's a common emotion, Rodney. You're not alone in feeling it."

He shook his head. "Not like this. It's different for me. You wouldn't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

More pacing, increasing, and a developing stutter, fumbling over his words. "Like waking up as someone else, and knowing nothing. But people expect things. Demand things, and ask questions, and I don't know what to say. Don't have a clue. He calls me Answer Man. Hah!"

"Who?"

"Major Sheppard. He doesn't get it. I have all this knowledge in my head but it's trapped. Fix this, mend that, but I've never been good with my hands." His hands broke off their assault on each other for him to point at her. "Clumsy, my parents said. But they didn't get me either." Snorted. "Wanted to shut me up. Like they could."

She was growing increasingly alarmed by his behavior, by his frantic speech. By the thumb that was still digging into the flesh of his hand, nail first. "Slow down," she encouraged.

He shook his head violently. "Can't. There's too much going on. Sparking all the time. And you tell me to slow down!" He came to a sudden stop, turned to shout at her: "I can't control it, don't you get that?"

She drew a quick breath, realized she was actually pressing back against the floor, flinching. Had to force herself to relax, to look at him calmly. Saw a tremor wrack his body. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

He stared at her, and she saw his muscles tense, lines drawing in about his mouth and eyes. The mask pulling up. "I'm tired." And his voice was tight and controlled. "I'm sorry, doctor. You're right, I need some sleep." Grinned, and it looked macabre. "Carson says I can be as cranky as his grandmother." In several short, quick steps he had crossed the floor and swept all of his tools into their box, shutting the lid on the heap. "I'll send someone else to fix this."

She rose, and fought her reluctance to close the distance between them. "We should finish this discussion after you've had some rest."

He glanced at her, then back at the box, lifting it up with one hand. "Quite probably," he agreed, then headed for the door. Looked back briefly. "You know your way out?"

She nodded, and watched his departing back. Released a long, shaky breath.


	6. Faking It

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Six - Faking It

The corridors in Atlantis were well designed to not just carry electricity, but also sound. She could hear their voices though they were hidden behind a corner wall, muffled, blooming as she turned into the same stretch of corridor.

McKay's back was turned to her. He stood hunched, shoulders bunched, defensive. Sheppard stood opposite, leaning forward, one arm lifted slightly from his side and hand twitching as though struggling to restrain himself. Both seemed oblivious to Teyla's approach and she found herself hanging back, reluctant to interrupt.

"I looked in the lab, McKay. That little Japanese girl was there, told me you hadn't been there for hours."

"Then I must have been somewhere else."

"Like, where?"

"It was evening, Major. Ever think I might be sleeping?"

"Your room was empty. I left you a note."

"How preschool of you. Must have missed it." Added, with a complete lack of sincerity: "Sorry."

She saw Sheppard take a step forward, lowering his voice. "Come on, Rodney. I realise I'm a few evolutionary steps behind you but give me a break."

"Fine. I went for a walk," came back the response, heated.

"All night?" The hand twitched. "Even geniuses need their beauty sleep."

She saw one finger reach out and jab Major Sheppard in the chest. "Ah. You're in league with Heightmeyer."

"What? McKay –"

"No," came back the response, sharp and biting. "go find another puppy, Major. I'm sure Lieutenant Ford won't mind being babysat. This one's wise to you." And then the finger became a palm, pushing Sheppard out of the way so its owner could continue down the corridor.

She heard Sheppard swear, throwing up his hands in despair. "Fine." He stepped into a transporter alcove, the doors closing on him. Teyla waited several moments before chasing after the scientist.

"Dr McKay?"

He was ignoring her, shoulders tense, pace picking up. Said, without looking: "If you heard that little brawl and want to comment then save your breath. I don't want to hear it."

"Perhaps," she said evenly, drawing to his side, forced into long strides to keep up. "Nevertheless –"

"You're going to tell me anyway." He shot a dark look at her and she caught a glimpse of shadows on pale skin and the hint of stubble. "Go on then. You may as well spit it out."

"Major Sheppard is only concerned for you."

"Concerned for his trained monkey." His fingers twisted against each other, an angry red mark blazoned across his right hand. "CO's job."

"As a friend," she emphasised, "he worries. As do we all."

"Why?" He nodded in apparent agreement with himself. "He thinks I'm a liability. He's waiting for me to screw up."

Teyla found herself at a momentary loss. "That is not what I meant."

"Hah. Right. Be polite. That's the proper thing to do."

She paused, then pressed on: "We worry." And though since the funerals the issue had been avoided, though she and Ford had respected the scientist's privacy: "These past weeks have not been easy."

McKay's reaction was not what she expected. She was shocked to see confusion in his face, apparent ignorance. "What?"

"The death of your colleagues," she prompted, hesitantly. "And the circumstances –"

His gaze broke off and he stopped, offering her an unconvincing: "Oh, that." And with horror Teyla realized McKay had no idea what she was talking about.

"Doctor McKay –"

He pulled his face into what she thought was intended as remorse. "I, ah, I'm coping." Then he continued his stride down the corridor.

She found her feet had slowed unconsciously, allowing McKay to create distance between them. He turned, snapped at her, gripping his right hand with the left: "Teyla - pass a message to Sheppard for me. Tell him to leave me alone. Him, and Heightmeyer, and anyone else in their little league. They can stop spying on me, because I'm not about –"

And then he faltered, anger dissipating as suddenly as it had formed, and he looked so exhausted Teyla feared he might fall. "There's too much," he muttered, to himself. "Voices. Eyes in the dark." Then he lifted his head with a jerk, glaring at Teyla. "Leave me alone."


	7. Trained Chimps

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Seven - Trained Chimps

Elizabeth rarely closed her office door. Sheppard guessed it was a conscious decision, a deliberate attempt to appear open and available to any concerns a person might bring to her. He'd told her that she

didn't need to make the effort, and though she'd smiled and thanked him, she still left the door open.

Then he'd startled her one day, found her sat at her desk with her eyes closed. She said she'd been listening, that from her desk she could hear all the sounds from the control room and the gate below. She knew when a team was returning before Grodin called her, and she was always ready to stand at the steps to watch them depart. She knew when there was panic, and when there was peace, and said it was more soothing than any comm call or paper report.

That afternoon the door was closed, and he could see the shape of another figure behind the mottled glass. The rooms were roughly soundproofed, and he could hear little more than quiet, indistinct mumbles.

Peter was sat at his console, clearly distracted, running the same scan over and over and paying no attention to the results. He looked up at Sheppard and frowned.

"Is it urgent? Because she's been in there a while."

Sheppard shrugged. "You tell me."

"Ah." Peter glanced at his screen. "Must be about the mission."

"Probably. Who's in with her?" he asked, casually.

"Dr Heightmeyer." A frown creased the Englishman's forehead. "She's a few days early this month."

"Early?"

Grodin looked up at him. "Every month Dr Weir is given a rundown of all the assessments Heightmeyer makes."

"Oh." He nodded. Common practice at the SGC, so he'd been told, and something he would have to become accustomed to. Knew that the details were kept vague, the exercise only serving to alert the commanding office of any potential problems, but he had still bristled at the idea and only attended his own meetings with Kate because he liked the woman, and felt a perverted sense of obligation.

Talking of which…

The two women lingered in the doorway for several moments after it had opened. Heightmeyer kept her voice low, but the words: "I'll keep you informed," carried to where Sheppard perched on the end of Grodin's computer bank. As he watched, aware of his gaze being mirrored by Peter, Kate nodded her leave of Elizabeth then dropped down the stairs out of the control room. She gave both men a brief glance and a smile, but Sheppard's attention was already back on Weir's office.

"Come in, Major."

She led him into the room, took a seat behind her desk and indicated he take the one opposite. Glanced down at the papers on the table surface, then back up at him with a look of calm control. "Could you shut the door?"

"Sure." And whilst looking at Elizabeth he directed a thought at the city, heard the doors swish quietly closed a second later. Waited for another to pass before asking: "What's wrong?"

She sighed, control slipping to reveal worry, small stress lines beside her eyes, threatening to overcome the laughter lines. "Have you noticed anything wrong with Rodney recently?"

A wince. He should have guessed the purpose behind the summons. If McKay was acting odd with him then the science department must have been really suffering, and there were members who wouldn't take the scientist's mood swings with the same relative patience as his team mates. But Kate's appearance was a surprise.

"Is that what Dr Heightmeyer was talking to you about?"

"Amongst other things," she said carefully. "Does that surprise you?"

Not for the reasons you think, he thought ruefully. Had always found McKay to be as talented as he was in deceiving the doctor. His like for Kate as a person did not stop him from remembering what her job was, and McKay always kept his personal space fortified with an electric fence. His friends were those allowed to come within sight distance.

"Look," he shrugged, "I know he's been a little off-kilter recently, but it's McKay. 'Out there' is a permanent state of mind."

She sighed softly. "I realize that. Rodney doesn't do much to endear himself to his colleagues. He works long hours –"

"He's not the only one," Sheppard interrupted, pointedly.

"I know." Elizabeth leant back in her chair, her expression troubled. "I've checked the schedules of the science department. He's been working almost twice his usual hours since –"

"Since the nanovirus," he finished. "They're short staffed. And you know what he's like. Thinks the city will fall apart if he doesn't oversee every job."

"The phrase 'trained chimps' springs to mind," she said, dryly.

"It's one of his favorites."

She smiled, but faltered after a moment. "Recent losses have meant we've all been pulling long nights and double shifts. It's not a situation I'm happy with but I realize there is little choice if we want to achieve even half of what we could accomplish here. But when that work ethic starts to affect a person's emotional wellbeing I have to be concerned. Aside from being a friend, Rodney is also head of the science department. I need to know he's…" She paused, lost for words.

"Surviving?" Sheppard asked, thinking of his own history.

"More than that." She steepled her fingers and looked across at him. "I can't send anyone off-world if they aren't reacting to situations in a rational manner."

Another wince, as he thought back to the argument in the corridor. To his friend's knee-jerk reaction to a friendly pat on the arm. Of the bedroom, torn apart, and the unexplained absences. "I'm a little worried," he admitted, reluctantly. "The man can't relax."

She looked away from him for a second, and he saw a flicker in her eyes. Something she knew, something she wasn't about to share. He grimaced, and continued.

"He's been a bit snappier than normal. But like you said, he's over worked. I don't blame him."

"He's been forgetting things," she said. "He was late to the briefing."

"Not for the first time," he pointed out. "McKay gets distracted. Give him an alien device and he's like a kid with a new toy."

She smiled again, but it still seemed no more colorful than the first. "It's getting worse, Major. I can put a few instances down to distraction but he was almost twenty minutes late last time. Even when he was here he barely said a word."

"I know," he admitted. "For McKay that's near paranormal."

"When was the last time you saw him out of work, John?"

He looked up, surprised. "A couple of days ago. In the mess hall."

"And before that?" She gave another sigh. "Dr Heightmeyer believes Rodney is reacting badly to recent events."

"Gee, I wonder why," he drawled, and immediately hated himself. "McKay can cope."

"He's been pulling away from everything," she continued, though he caught a glimpse of guilt beneath the mask. "He's not sleeping. He's increasingly distracted. I've received several complaints from his coworkers that he's been forgetting things, blaming his mistakes on others."

"You can't listen to Kavanagh," he rejoined immediately, but she was already shaking her head.

"I know there's tension between them and if it were just him I'd be inclined to agree, but it isn't. Dr Zelenka assures me everything is fine but I suspect he's bending the truth to protect Rodney."

"Zelenka's been working the same hours," he pointed out.

"And that may be another reason for him to be compensating for any failings by Rodney. But he isn't…" And she stopped.

"Falling apart," he challenged. And again hated himself.

Her eye shot up to meet his, dark and troubled. "I can't let him go off world, John. Not like this."

"You can't ground him," he returned. "He needs some sleep. We all do. But grounding him –"

"I know," she interrupted, quietly. "Which is why I'm open to suggestions."

He thought for a moment, plunged in with: "Make something up. Some lie. Ground the entire team. It's a run of the mill mission, you can send Bates' team in our place."

"What would you suggest?"

He waved vaguely at her. "That's more your department than mine, Elizabeth. Just keep us in Atlantis for a couple of days. I'll talk to him." Though he wasn't quite sure what about, and whether he'd be allowed in the same room as McKay after their last conversation.

Her lips thinned, fingers threading and unthreading their grip. "He needs to sleep."

"If I have to tie him to the bed."

"And I want him to see Kate."

"Already done," he replied, with a confidence he didn't feel.

"John…" And she stopped, took a breath, and started again. "Before I took command of the SGC I was warned that the military mind thinks differently to that of a civilian. General O'Neill told me the same, but he admitted that people still surprise him." Another pause. "Atlantis is a unique situation, Major."

He blinked in surprise. "You think because McKay's a civilian he can't cope?"

Elizabeth lifted her head to look at him, a sad look in her eyes. "You've lost people under your command before, John. Rodney hasn't."

He flinched, managed to nod, though his shoulders and back muscles tensed at the comment. "Just a couple of days," he repeated.

"I can give you that."

He rose from his chair, awkward in the silence. Opened the doors and was heading to them when she called after him.

"Major. For what it's worth – I'd like to believe you're right."

He looked back at her and offered a fake, forced smile of his own. "Just wait."


	8. Nuts

A/N: Did someone say 'bring on the insanity?' ;-)

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Eight- Nuts

"Finally."

Kavanagh lifted his chin into the air and glared at the latecomer. Drawled: "Good of you to join us, McKay."

Rodney stopped in the doorway, watching his three colleagues with an expression of wary caution. "I was busy."

"God knows why," Kavanagh sniffed. "You should be off-world, shouldn't you?"

"The MALP reported monsoon season. They're picking another planet." His gaze drifted over the cables and tools scattering the floor. "What do you need me for?"

"Not you, McKay. Your gene." Dave Ashcroft, an English chemist with a strong Yorkshire accent the Czech found difficult to understand. He was a broad shouldered, middle aged man with weight around his middle and a thick thatch of black hair. He sat beside a mass of power cables and open floor panels, accompanied by his usual flask of steaming liquid.

McKay's gaze dropped to the drink, his nose wrinkling. "What's that?"

"Tea," the man supplied. "Something the Athosians drink. Not quite the same as a brew back home but it's the closest the Pegasus galaxy has to offer." He gave a wistful sigh. "What I wouldn't give for a box of PG."

"Yes yes," Kavanagh groaned, "We all feel your pain. Can we get on it? We've wasted enough time already."

"Sorry," McKay offered softly. Zelenka looked up sharply at him, concerned. Took in his appearance – dishevelled uniform, flushed cheeks, shadowed eyes and pale skin.

"Rodney –"

"Where do you need me?" McKay continued, ignoring him. He walked across to where Kavanagh stood, looking down on the pit of power cables.

Zelenka drew his gaze away, down to the snake pit. "Dr Kavanagh has recorded fluctuations in the power relay between the east pier and the jumper bay."

"We're losing almost a third of output ," Kavanagh added, stiffly. "I've narrowed the location down to this room."

"Either there's some damage to the live wire, or we're busy powering a section of the city we've never been to." Ashcroft took a gulp of the Athosian tea.

"So," Zelenka put in, simply, gesturing at the mass of cables below them. "We test each one to compare input and output. But it needs someone with the gene to initiate power supply."

"Right." McKay nodded, crossing the room to stand beside a large monitor set into the wall. On its flat surface was displayed a schematic of the room in which they worked, detailing the number of power cables, with a set of graphs running along the left side of the screen to show the amount of power streaming through each one.

Ashcroft set his flask down, then clambered down into the shallow hole beneath the floor and stood amongst the cables. Kavanagh squatted beside him, pointing at the various wires.

"We should try M-57 first."

Temporarily ignoring both men, Zelenka followed Rodney to the display screen. He spoke softly, glancing at Kavanagh to be certain the man wasn't listening.

"Are you alright, McKay?"

Two suspicious eyes glanced at him. "Why?"

"You do not look well."

"I'm fine." McKay turned away from him, looking up at the display screen.

"Your dedication is appreciated, Rodney, but we can manage without you. There are others with the gene –"

"You sent for me," came back the response. "So now you'll turn me away when you don't need me?"

Zelenka stopped, blinking in surprise. "I am concerned –"

"Right. I don't need it."

"If you girls have finished chatting…"

Perched on the edge of a floor panel, Ashcroft gave the two men a grin and gestured at the pit. "We're ready."

Zelenka nodded, and reluctantly turned away from McKay. He dropped down into the hole, almost stumbling over the wires, reaching out to steady himself on the floor. Ashcroft turned away from him to grip the end of a thick, brown cable that stretched the five metre distance from one end to the other. Zelenka gripped the other end, at the point at which the cable buried itself further beneath the floor.

"McKay, I need to you turn the power off just before Ashcroft pulls the plug." Kavanagh glanced from the cables to the display. "I'll monitor the readings."

"We all know what we're doing," Ashcroft pointed out. "This is old hat."

Kavanagh's nostrils flared. "I just thought you could do with the reminder. Ready, McKay?"

"Yes." Rodney turned towards the computer screen.

"On three. One…" Kavanagh counted. "Two.."

"Three," Ashcroft finished, pulling the brown cable from where it plugged into a power inlet. Zelenka looked up at the computer screen and saw the second graph from the top change its output.

"Nothing," Kavanagh said, also watching the screen. "Plug it back in."

Ashcroft did as he was told without sufferance. He was an amiable, good natured man, and was the only one to cope with the arrogance and rudeness of both Kavanagh and McKay without protest.

Though McKay had barely made a sound since coming into the room. Zelenka watched his friend with concern. The physicist had not been the best company recently, snapping at even those close to him and despite disgruntled protests from the entire department, adding weapons training and fitness meetings to the schedules of his fellow scientists. It was an idea that Major Sheppard had decided was long overdue, but Zelenka recognised McKay's agreement as what it was – an attempt to absolve himself of misplaced guilt.

The recent losses had affected the mood of the city, and Zelenka was still struggling to forget his own near death experience.

"We'll try M-19 next." Kavanagh pointed at a bright blue cable, prompting a grumble from Ashcroft.

"I know which one you mean, Kavanagh."

The past few days had been the worst. Zelenka thought of the assurances he had given Dr Weir, and wondered whether he had been right. The truth was that McKay was increasingly distracted, making obvious mistakes and forgetting the most basic of knowledge.

He glanced surreptitiously at the scientist. McKay was staring at the computer screen with no recognition in his eyes, the fingers of his left hand tugging jerkily at a bandage that wrapped his right.

Lack of sleep, Zelenka assured himself. McKay overworked himself, and it was taking its toll. Perhaps he would speak to him. Encourage the man to delegate, that his colleagues were not the imbeciles he so frequently accused them of being.

"Dr Zelenka?"

He looked up to find Ashcroft looking at him, the older man's hands gripped around M-19.

"I am ready," he assured him, taking up position next to the second cable.

"Let's get on with it." Kavanagh looked down into the pit. "One, two, three –"

Ashcroft pulled on the blue cable hard, freeing it from its socket. Zelenka saw a flash of bright sparks and heard the Yorkshireman cry out in pain and drop the cable. The wire writhed like it was alive, pulsating with energy.

Kavanagh was yelling. "Dammit – McKay, the power –"

The sparks suddenly died away, the cable's movements ceasing. Quickly clambering over it Zelenka reached the fallen Ashcroft, gently turning the man onto his side to see his uniform smoulder, bright red skin revealed through holes in the cloth on his shoulder and arm. There was the distinct smell of burnt flesh, and smoke rose from the man's right hand.

Ashcroft clutched the wounded limb to his chest, face white as a sheet, muttering a soft curse over and over, his eyes screwed shut.

"God damn it." Kavanagh was beside McKay, his face flushed with fury. "You were supposed to switch off the power! A child could do it!"

McKay seemed unresponsive, staring at the injured Ashcroft with unblinking eyes.

"Gone deaf suddenly? You could have killed us!"

"Me." Ashcroft's voice was little more than a soft rasp, but it still held the power to interrupt Kavanagh's rant. "You weren't anywhere near it, Kavanagh. And it was an accident."

"Rodney?" Zelenka looked up across the room to his friend.

McKay shifted his feet, seeming to come out of his trance. He looked on Ashcroft with an expression of dismay, then up at Kavanagh. "I didn't – I – you weren't –"

"Don't blame this on me." Kavanagh's face pulled into a sneer. "You're a liability, McKay, and I'll make sure the whole department knows it."

"Kavanagh." Zelenka spoke firmly. He had a grip on Ashcroft's unharmed shoulder and could feel the man shaking. "We need to get David to the infirmary."

"And who's going to clear up this mess? McKay can take him. He can explain this to Weir whilst he's there."

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Rodney –"

McKay was shaking his head, taking several steps away from Kavanagh towards the door. "Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean – I j-just, I didn't see –"

Starting to feel frightened, Zelenka repeated: "Rodney –"

"What the hell's going on?"

Four pairs of eyes turned to see Major Sheppard standing in the doorway to the room, a look of shock on his face. He took in Kavanagh's rage, McKay's horror and Ashcroft's position of pain before his gaze finally rested on Zelenka. "What happened?"

He repeated Ashcroft's words: "An accident."

"McKay almost killed him," Kavanagh spat.

"An accident." Rodney shook his head, continuing to move towards the door.

"David is injured," Zelenka said, trying to sound calm.

"I'm fine."

"No, you are not. We must have Carson look at you." He looked up again at Kavanagh. "Help me."

"An a-accident." McKay was stuttering now, the colour draining from his face, swaying slightly. "L-like before. A-always like b-before."

Sheppard was walking towards Rodney, taking slow, cautious steps. "Calm down, McKay."

"He's nuts," Kavanagh growled, prompting Zelenka and Sheppard to chorus a sharp:

"Shut _up_, Kavanagh!"

The man gave another sneer, but sealed his lips thinly, dropping to his knees beside the pit to help Zelenka lift Ashcroft to his feet.

"Come," Zelenka said softly, in the Yorkshireman's ear. "Beckett will make sure you are scar free."

"Shame," Ashcroft managed, his face pinched tight with pain, "the girls always like a war hero."

"See?" Sheppard was still taking slow step after slow step towards McKay, his hands held stiffly by his side. "We'll get this sorted out."

McKay's arms were now hugging his chest, as he rocked gently on his feet. He spoke to the floor, seemingly unaware of Sheppard's approach. "Did a b-bad thing. And they'll p-punish you. L-lock you up and h-hide you away and f-forget and –"

Without warning, his head shot up and he yelled, his voice cracking on the final word: "I won't go back!" Then he bolted, lashing out with one hand to push Sheppard backwards and running out into the corridor. Zelenka almost rose to follow but Sheppard was ahead of him, chasing after the scientist.

Beside him, Kavanagh was lifting the trembling Ashcroft to his feet. "Nuts," he repeated to his audience, with a smug expression. "I knew it."


	9. The East Pier

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Nine - The East Pier

Sheppard chased him through several corridors, McKay weaving his way through the city aimlessly, ignoring any pleas for him to stop. Even when he caught up to the scientist, the man wouldn't look at him, studying his feet as they tripped over each other, muttering incoherent whispers to his chest. Sheppard's first instinct was to grab him, pull him to a halt but he held back, afraid of the reaction if he tried. When they approached an external door he hesitated, considered radioing for help, then changed his mind and followed McKay outside. Whatever his friend needed, it wasn't an audience.

The sky was overcast, a deep shade of grey. Fat, heavy clouds threatened rain and a strong wind whipped the sea into a fine mist, quickly coating both men in a fine layer of damp. McKay stumbled out onto the metal pathway, stopping several meters from the door and looking up with a confused expression.

Questioningly: "Major –"

Sheppard panted, mostly from desperation. "Glad you've stopped running."

McKay turned with wild eyes and a haunted look. "Where are we?"

"East pier." He watched Rodney look about him, out at the ocean, then back.

"You keep following me."

"I want to talk to you."

McKay shook his head, turning to stride out along the pier. John chased after him.

"McKay, this is ridiculous. Just stop for a minute. Let me talk to you –"

Without warning the other man turned in a sharp, violent movement, jabbing out with one hand. An ugly shade of brown mottled the badly wrapped bandage. "Leave me alone. Chasing me, watching me, spying on me, you and everyone else. You think you can keep me in a box but you can't because, well," and he gurgled a laugh, "obviously, I'm here, but you still keep coming and staring and watching and I won't go back! You hear me! I won't –"

Sheppard reached out to grab McKay's flailing wrist without thinking. The reaction was instant.

"Don't touch me!" A high pitched, strangled cry and McKay staggered backwards, stumbling against the railing and out towards the sea.

Sheppard swore, and forced his feet to take a step back. "Jesus, Rodney, what the hell is wrong with you?"

A snort, as McKay levered himself off the railing and back to his unsteady feet. "What's wrong with me? What about you, Major? Don't you think you're a little obsessed?"

"With what?" He took a breath, struggling to lower his voice. "I'm just worried about you."

And now you sound like Kate, or any other damn military psychologist, condescending and fake. Professional.

He took a different path. "What happened back there?"

"Accident." McKay's gaze darted back fearfully at the door. "It was an accident. I don't – I don't mean for anyone to get hurt."

"Never thought you did." He tried to insert some level of normality into his voice, to pretend they were just bantering. "I thought the great Rodney McKay didn't make mistakes."

"I do," came back the response, in a soft hush. "I make them all the time. Try to cover them up, but I don't know what I'm doing."

"I don't believe that."

"No? Ask Dr Ashcroft, hmm?"

"And how many times has one of Kavanagh's slip-ups almost cost you an arm?" Sheppard challenged. "Carson's always got a geek in the infirmary. You said it was a side-effect of experimentation. No gain without pain."

"Doesn't that sound wrong to you?" McKay shot back. "People shouldn't get hurt." And he turned away, out to the ocean, pulling at the bandage on his hand. "People always do, though. Things happen I can't control." Glanced back at Sheppard. "I'm dangerous."

"Jesus," and Sheppard scraped a hand through his hair roughly. "Rodney, what happened to Gaul –"

"My brother."

He stopped, momentarily thrown. "You don't have a brother."

McKay looked at him sadly. "No, you're right." And fresh blood stained the brown, his thumb ripping and tugging at the flesh beneath the bandage.

Sheppard tried not to notice. "You never mentioned him."

"He died. A long time ago." Rodney took a breath, turning back out to the sea. "A lifetime ago."

Weakly: "I didn't know."

A shrug. "No reason you should." Added, darkly: "That was my fault. I was confused. It's not like…" McKay's voice drifted into silence, and he started rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Come inside," Sheppard encouraged. "It's freezing out here. I thought you caught a cold like that." And he snapped his fingers.

His words were either not heard, or ignored.

"Why do you trust me?"

John paused, swallowing, struggling to answer. "Because you're, well, _you_, McKay. You've proved yourself." Joked: "You want me to massage your ego?"

"I make mistakes."

"One mistake, Rodney. No permanent harm done. Look," and he stepped forward hesitantly, "let's go inside, get something to eat. It's been a long day."

Again he was ignored. "Mistakes."

"Stop saying that." He took a deep breath. "The McKay I know wouldn't admit he's human."

"Fallible, you mean." McKay leant against the railing, pushing his face out into the thickly wet wind. "And you don't. Know me. You've got no idea."

"See, I disagree," Sheppard argued, taking another step. "Okay, so right now you're off your game, but don't go playing the martyr, McKay, because you're not the only one. We've lost people. And what's happened can mess with your head. I know, I've been there, bought the goddamn t-shirt."

"So?" Rodney asked, tiredly.

"So I trusted people enough to let them help me." He took another breath, and another step. "We can sort this out. Get your head straight."

He caught a glimpse of blue as McKay turned, lifting his head to look at Sheppard sadly. "And you'd help?"

"Me, Elizabeth, Ford and Teyla." And then, because he could see no better moment: "And sometimes, to talk to a professional –"

McKay stiffened, expression closing into one of anger and resentment, eyes glaring at Sheppard suspiciously. "Doctors. Should have known." And the stutter was back. "Ulterior m-motives. Tricky th-things, everyone's got them."

He panicked, realizing he'd lost control of the situation. Desperately: "McKay –"

"L-lies, Major. You're sinking in them." And then the blue eyes widened. "That's why I'm still here. In Atlantis. Why the m-mission was cancelled."

"Monsoon season, McKay, you heard Peter –"

"You and Elizabeth!" One hand pointed wildly at him. "You're both doing this! You want me locked up!"

"No –"

"A liability!"

"Dammit!" And he took another step forward, forcing McKay to move backwards. "Look at yourself, McKay! This isn't normal! I know somewhere in that incredibly stubborn brain of yours you know that and if you would just –"

The punch came out of nowhere, a closed fist connecting with Sheppard's jaw firmly and knocking him from the slippery wet metal surface of the pier onto his ass. Before he could struggle to his feet McKay was running, back along the pier towards the city.

"McKay!"

Grabbing hold of the railing, Sheppard hauled himself to his feet, cursing inwardly. He started to run after the physicist but he was too slow, and the door closed in his face.

And wouldn't open.

"Dammit!"

He hammered on the door, ineffectually. Ordered the computer to open it only for his instruction to be ignored.

"McKay!"

As though anyone could hear him over the sound of the wind.

It wasn't the cold of the rain soaking his jacket that caused him to shiver.


	10. Breaking

A/N: Sorry about the unintentional cliffy in the last chapter. Technical error! Which was fixed, but not before a few people got very confused... sorry!

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Ten - Breaking

Her short term as commander of Stargate Command had left Elizabeth with a new found respect for General Hammond. She had needed all her diplomatic skills to negotiate the minefield of a relationship between the SGC and the civilian government funding it, and had invented new ones to handle the Russians, the Chinese, and the Tok'ra. She had signed mandates, authorized transfers, read mission briefings and even picked out the exact shade of gray with which to repaint the weapons storage lockers. Even the lunch menu needed her approval.

She had hoped that in the Pegasus galaxy, light years from a single bureaucrat or filing cabinet, there would be less paperwork.

If anything there seemed to be more. Any trivial matter could become a problem. Now the lunch menus needed not only approving, but also several months of planning, diplomacy, fake smiles, trade agreements, and even an array of cultural dances before the main course was detailed. Bureaucracy found its way into the most backward of societies and if dealing with alien politics wasn't enough of a problem, she then had the internal strife of a city divided between civilian and military.

There was always too much work. Too many people demanding her attention, and too many items on her populated 'to do' list.

And yet, for the past twenty minutes, she had done little but sit and stare at the report open on her desk. Kate's report on McKay's psychological development from his first day stationed at Antarctica to her last meeting with him. His medical files. Recently scrawled notes from Kavanagh and a neatly typed memo from Carson detailing a prescription for sleeping pills.

And an e-mail from Dr Zelenka on her computer screen, only minutes old. He'd detailed, briefly, an accident that had occurred during a routine repair job, promising her a full report once all injuries had been dealt with, and admitting that he feared McKay was 'behaving not as himself.'

Her hand hovered over her keyboard, torn between a response and a message of her own to Kate.

"Why did you ground me?"

He stood in the doorway, pale and apparently wet through, his uniform covered in large dark patches, his hair plastered to his head.

Elizabeth dropped her hand from the keyboard and looked at McKay in shock. "What happened?"

"It's raining. Why did you ground me?"

She winced, and gestured at the spare chair. "Come in, and shut the door."

McKay stepped forward, closing the door behind him but refusing to take a seat. He started to pace the short distance from one wall to the other, rubbing at a wound on his hand and moving his head in short, jerky shakes.

"You l-lied to me. You and Sheppard. Beckett too. And Teyla and Ford? They must know. The whole city. Nuts, that's what you've told them."

"Rodney." She tried not to sound as alarmed as she felt, watching him move with violent energy around her office. The reports from Kate, the warning from Zelenka, the signs in his files – nothing had prepared her for the stranger before her. Shambling, pale faced, trembling, looking at her with paranoia and fear. "It's not like that."

"No? The truth. That's what I want. You have to be straight with me."

"Alright," she agreed, soothingly. "We're worried about you, Rodney. You've not been acting like yourself lately and we decided it would be better if you not go on the mission."

"Who?" McKay glanced at her. "You and who?"

"Myself and Major Sheppard. We decided it would be better to delay the mission for another couple of days. You need some rest."

"Rest?" He gave a gurgled laugh. "Like I can."

"I could speak to Dr. Zelenka," she suggested, gently. "I'm sure he could –"

He shook his head, quickly. "That would make things easy for you. Get them all in, take over, get rid of me. And who else, hmm? Who else is in this cover-up?"

"No one," she insisted. "Rodney, there's no conspiracy."

"You lied," he challenged, raising his voice to a sharp yell.

She flinched, and hated herself for it. Had to force herself to lean forward. "Perhaps we didn't choose the right way to go about it, but we were trying to help you. I'm sorry if you feel –"

"Sorry? Help?" McKay shook his head more violently. "Right. Eyes on me, everywhere I go. You and Sheppard, Heightmeyer, Zelenka, Teyla, lying and plotting."

Elizabeth rose from her seat, struggling to find the words with which to placate him. "You wouldn't normally say things like this, Rodney. Surely you can see that. You know we're only concerned because of your recent behavior –"

"I can't keep it straight," he snapped, ignoring her movement towards him. "All this stuff in my head. You say you're helping me and he says it's true, that you wouldn't lie to us but I don't believe him –"

"Who, Rodney?" she asked, confused.

He ignored her, muttering to himself as he paced. "Not like I can trust him. Can't remember what's mine and what's not. It's confusing," and he looked at her with sudden resentment, "and you all want to lock me up, just like before, just like they did, and I know he's afraid of that, afraid you'll lock him up and forget and," his voice raised to a shout: "So am I!"

"We won't." She reached out with one hand, hesitantly. "We wouldn't forget."

Her touch on his arm seemed to ground him and the pacing finally ceased. McKay stood still for a moment, breathing heavily, and Elizabeth could feel him shaking under the wet cloth of the uniform.

She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, and said, softly: "Rodney –"

His hand shot up and latched around her throat, whilst the other pressed against her chest and forced her to stagger backwards, pressing her against the wall. She choked, struggling to breathe as the weight on her neck increased, crushing her windpipe painfully.

Managed one word, a desperate plea as she pushed out all the air she had in a whisper: "Rodney –"

The grip on her throat tightened and she gagged. Could hear the pitiful gasps uttered from her mouth as she gulped, her chest heaving. He ignored her, oblivious to the hands which scratched and clawed at his own, or the hideous sound of wheezing as she struggled for oxygen. Then, slowly, the noise was drowned out by a buzzing in her ears, the color draining from the world around her, and as her vision darkened to a narrow circle of light she could see only the image of a stranger, expressionless, watching her die.


	11. Surprise

_A/N: Two chapters tonight. But only because one is really short. And I think I needed to shower after the cliffy from last time, lol._

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Eleven - Surprise

Grodin had been surprised to see a bedraggled looking McKay storm through the control room into Dr Weir's office. He had tried calling out to the man, but was ignored, and had the door shut in his face. Confused, Peter returned to his console and had sat for a few minutes, trying to look busy and not like he was futilely eavesdropping, when an even wetter Major Sheppard appeared, running through the control room and calling for Bates.

"Seen McKay?" Sheppard demanded, taking the stairs two at a time. Water had plastered his hair flat to his head, and Peter could see a trail of small puddles marking the Major's path from the corridor beyond.

"He's talking to Dr Weir," he supplied. "What happened to you?"

"Is the door locked?"

Peter blinked in surprise, then glanced down at the screen on his desk, running his hands quickly over the Atlantean keyboard. "Yes, but I can override it. Why –"

"Do it," Sheppard ordered, looking across at Bates. "Sergeant –"

"Right behind you," Bates answered, already moving towards Weir's office.

"Major," Peter protested, confused by the man's demands, "If I knew what was going on –"

"Just open the damn door!" Sheppard growled, and Grodin was shocked to see fear in the man's eyes, provoking his own sense of sudden dread.

His fingers dashed across the controls, driven by Sheppard's hot breath over his shoulder. In only a matter of seconds he had the door open and was rising from his seat, following the two soldiers as they raced through into Weir's office.

Elizabeth was forced up against the wall, McKay's hand around her throat, her eyes rolling back up into her head. McKay never moved a muscle, not when they burst through the door, not as they ran towards him, not even to stop Sergeant Bates from tackling him to the floor – though then the change was instant. The scientist started kicking, punching, yelling angrily as Sheppard and Bates dragged him across the room.

Elizabeth had fallen to a crumpled heap on the floor and Peter dropped down beside her, gently reaching out for a pulse. He pulled back at the sound of a wheeze and instead his hands slipped under Weir's shoulders, bracing her as she struggled onto all fours. He could hear her gasp, horrible dry sounds from her mouth as she drank in all the oxygen she could, her chest shuddering uncontrollably.

McKay was still screaming incoherently, bucking against his captors with incredible strength. Twice he slipped from Bates and Sheppard's grasp, though they grabbed him by the arms and hauled him back. Grodin could hear Sheppard, pleading for the scientist to stop.

"McKay, for god's sake –"

"Major, his arm –"

"I got it – Rodney, just stop –"

And then the sound of a crack as bone hit bone. Sheppard's fist collided neatly with McKay's jaw and the man slipped backwards. Bates caught his weight and together he and Sheppard manhandled the unconscious scientist to the floor.

Weir was still struggling for breath, but though her chest still heaved the wheezes were now gasps, and the blue tinge to her lips was fading. Grodin helped her lean on him as she sat up, gripping her shoulder tightly as she shook, her eyes scrunched shut.

He glanced at Sheppard. "We need Dr Beckett."

Sheppard was kneeling beside McKay, his hand resting gently against the scientist's face. He looked up to meet Peter's gaze with a resigned, grief-stricken expression. "I know."


	12. Diagnosis

_A/N: I have zip all medical knowledge. Seriously. Nada. Anything you will see in the following chapters is gleaned from annoying various medically-minded friends and, uh, Google. In my defence, it's not like Stargates are scientifically possivle so if I'm grossly inaccurate with my medical terms and the uses of them, and if I'm breaking the laws of modern medicine in my descriptions then technically, I'm being canon. Honest._

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twelve - Diagnosis

"You knew he was dangerous?" Bates demanded, furiously, and had the satisfaction of seeing Heightmeyer flinch.

"I never expected him to react like this," the psychologist responded, without looking up. "His condition has deteriorated far quicker than I could have predicted."

They sat in the conference room; Bates, Heightmeyer, Beckett and himself in a circle with Elizabeth at their head. She was still pale, taking frequent sips from a glass of water Beckett had placed at her elbow. A purple handprint was scored against the pale skin of her neck.

"But you thought there was a possibility?" Bates continued, sitting stiff-backed in his chair.

Kate tilted her chin defiantly. "If I were to act on every possibility, Sergeant, I would have half the city in the infirmary. I did not consider Dr McKay to be a risk."

"Nice judgement call," Bates shot back.

"Sergeant," Sheppard warned, but was interrupted.

"I made my decision based on facts and intuition, Sergeant, just as you do."

"He locked the Major out of the city –"

"Who was soon released by Dr Zelenka –"

"- and then tried to kill Dr Weir!"

"Sergeant!" Elizabeth broke the tension, her voice quiet and hoarse. She shot a stern look at Bates, who backed down, settling in his chair with a glower. "Where is Rodney now?"

"In the infirmary, under sedation," Beckett responded.

"He'll need to be guarded."

"Two guards, ma'am," Bates assured her, "and he's restrained."

"Is that necessary?" Sheppard demanded, only to have Elizabeth's icy gaze turned on him with full force.

"Not only has he tried attacking members of this expedition, Major, but Dr Heightmeyer has informed me there's a strong likelihood of him harming himself. It's the best for all concerned, including Rodney."

He flinched, pulling his gaze away from the bruise on her neck. Insisted: "It doesn't feel right. This is McKay, we're talking about. There's got to be some other explanation than he's," and he paused, forcing out the word: "crazy."

"A brain disorder," Kate corrected, gently. "The symptoms point to schizophrenia."

Carson was looking as uncomfortable as Sheppard felt, wringing his hands over the table. "Are you sure? Not that I'm doubting you, Doctor, and given the circumstances…" He lapsed into silence, and gazed at Kate pleadingly.

"He attacked Doctor Weir," Bates pointed out, adroitly.

"Thank you, Sergeant." Weir looked up at him, meaningfully. "I think you can go."

Bates hesitated, glancing at Sheppard who merely nodded in return. He wasn't in the mood to handle military diplomacy with a stubborn security officer. The soldier pushed back his seat and rose, walking towards the door. "I'll check on the infirmary."

"Thank you." Elizabeth's hand reached up to brush her throat as she did what Sheppard hadn't: "Sergeant – your assistance was appreciated."

Bates gave a trim nod of his own, then left, the door closing behind him. Sheppard heard Beckett release a small sigh.

"Though I hate to admit it, he has a point. Rodney would never do something like this if he were in his right mind. Still…" And the Scotsman floundered.

"If this were just one or two instances, then I would doubt it myself." Heightmeyer lifted her gaze to meet Weir's. "But his history shows all the signs. Disorganized speech and thinking, the tendency towards disinhibition, social isolation –"

"That's just McKay being McKay!" Sheppard protested. "I know he shouts it from the rooftops but he's right, he's a genius. There's so many ideas in that head of his I don't blame him for not keeping them straight! But all the geeks are like that, look at Zelenka –"

"John." Elizabeth coughed, pain creasing lines around her eyes. "Please."

"Major, I'm sorry." Kate placed her hand on the papers in front of her. "I wish there was someone to give you a second opinion, but there isn't. I _can_ show you McKay's psychological history. Notes taken by his previous doctors."

Sheppard forced himself to take a deep breath before responding. "If they'd diagnosed him as schizophrenic he'd never have been allowed to work for the military."

"True." She hesitated, clearly taking care over her words. "It is not uncommon for schizophrenia to be diagnosed later in a person's life. Patients may have experienced mild symptoms for many years, only for a traumatic event to lead to a psychotic break such as this one. And given the amount of time he has spent on international assignments it's unsurprising that there's no consistent journal of his behaviour. And…" she looked at Sheppard, "much of it has been explained in just the way you've used. It's McKay being McKay."

"And now?" Carson asked.

"I'll need to speak with him, run a number of tests. EEGs, MRIs, a PET scan…"

Beckett nodded. "I'll see to it."

"I want to make sure I've eliminated any other possibility before making an official diagnosis."

"But your current judgment," Elizabeth prompted.

"Is paranoid schizophrenia. I've read the material you passed to me, Elizabeth, and I've heard the Major's account of his conversation with Doctor McKay."

"He was upset," Sheppard protested weakly, feeling swamped.

"I'm sorry, Major." Again her gaze turned to his, and he saw her professional demeanour falter, her face shadowed with regret. "It's not a diagnosis I want to make, but it's the only one I can when considering all the facts."

"We'll do the tests," Beckett added, gently. "Believe me, Major, if there's any other explanation, we'll find it."

"It still doesn't make sense," he insisted. "For him to change so suddenly –"

"I know," the Scotsman agreed, dropping his hands to the table. "I don't want to accept it either, but with the lack of any other evidence…" He trailed off.

Kate glanced at him with an expression of regret. "It's my belief that Rodney has been coping with a number of mild symptoms for many years, but recent events…" And she stopped, delicately. "The disorder means he is less able to cope. Hence the sudden deterioration, the delusions, paranoia, the violent attack against Dr Weir..."

Sheppard swallowed, his mouth dry. "So what do we do?"

Kate exchanged a look with Carson, who shifted in his seat. "We can't begin to decide upon a medication until we've examined Rodney's results," he admitted.

"And then?"

"John, there's no cure for schizophrenia, and any progress we make will be mostly trial and error."

He knew that already, not entirely ignorant as to medical procedures used on Earth, though his experience was limited. And even without his shaky grasp on the science behind the condition, Carson was less adept than Kate at concealing his emotion. The man was an open book, increasingly uncomfortable, guilt and sorrow etched on his face. Elizabeth was doing a better job at remaining in control, but her right hand was gripping the glass of water so tightly Sheppard could see the whites of her knuckles.

"So he's off the team," he said, bleakly. "Permanently."

Elizabeth looked at him sadly. "You know there's no choice."

"And lab work?"

"Let's concentrate on treating him," Kate said, gently. "That's all that matters right now."

He took a breath and nodded, grimly. Glanced at Elizabeth. "I want to see him."

The shadow of a smile tugged at the edges of Elizabeth's mouth as she nodded. "I imagined you would. Doctors?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," Carson agreed.

"It might be helpful for McKay to see a familiar face when he wakes up."

"And my team?" Sheppard questioned. "Teyla and Ford?"

"That's your call, Major." Elizabeth leant forward in her chair. "If you believe they need to know –"

"They're his team," he said, simply.

She nodded. "I will need to brief Dr Zelenka as well. I want him to take over as head of the department whilst…" and Weir hesitated briefly, and corrected: "in Rodney's absence. Otherwise I'd rather the details of this be kept within this room."

"You know that won't last," Carson warned. "Not with Kavanagh's mouth. This station's worse than my ma's book club for local gossip."

"Nevertheless, I would rather we kept this as quiet for as long as possible." Elizabeth took a deep breath, sitting more formally in her chair. "My priority is ensuring this city is protected. At present, doctors, yours is to help Dr McKay in any way you can." Her expression faltered. Read clearly what Sheppard himself was thinking, and couldn't bear to voice.

_You help him, because I no longer can._


	13. Brick Walls

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Thirteen - Brick Walls

"Well if this isn't another fine mess you've got yourself into."

Sheppard sat in an uncomfortable, stiff backed chair in the infirmary, the room empty save for its one patient and the two guards positioned in the doorway. Lieutenants Vaughan and Mukherjee stood at strict attention, their gaze directed intently out into the corridor.

_And away from me._

The chair creaked as he shifted within it, trying in vain to find a more comfortable position. His clothes were drying in the warmth of the room, the cloth stiff and awkward against his skin. He ran a hand over his head in an attempt to resurrect his hair, and came away with his fingers covered in sticky gel. Wiped the goo on his pant leg and leant forward, sighing.

"I don't think you're nuts," he addressed the figure in the bed. Added, thoughtfully: "Well, no more than normal. But then I guess we've all got to be a little whacked to have left Earth."

He didn't receive an answer, and didn't expect one. McKay had woken a few minutes after his arrival in the infirmary but had refused to respond to any pleas from the on-duty nurse or from Beckett, and at Sheppard's voice he had twisted his neck to stare at the opposite wall. Aside from the occasional tug at the cuffs tying him to the bed, the scientist had barely moved.

"There's another explanation," Sheppard continued, confidently. "I've just got to find it. Hell, there's an entire galaxy full of things ready to blow us up, decapitate us, suck the life out of us, shock us and just generally find new ways to mess with our heads. Of course," he added, meaningfully, "it'd be easier if I had your help in this."

No response. If it were not for the slight hitch in the rise and fall of McKay's chest, Sheppard might have thought him unconscious.

Stubborn, Sheppard thought, and found solace in that thought. A solidly McKay-like emotion he could cling to. Trouble was that, just as he had admitted, he needed the scientist. Needed his thoughts, his leaping from one conclusion to the next, his theories and ideas. At book smarts Sheppard could compete with the best of the geeks – even if he sensibly wouldn't admit it - but that was a long way from true genius, and he struggled amidst the medical evidence to find an alternative explanation.

Like a needle in a haystack, Sheppard thought, sitting back in his chair. There was no reason to doubt Heightmeyer's diagnosis - no sensible, logical reason.

_And the rest..._

"It looks bad," he admitted aloud.

Medical files, psychological history, warning signs – was it false hope? Heightmeyer seemed to think so. He saw her quick glances, her pity. Beckett was little help. Torn between the science he believed so passionately in, and the friendship he'd built with McKay, the doctor seemed lost, resigned to an outcome he couldn't control.

He's trained to think like that, Sheppard reminded himself. To play the odds, to fight until it became inevitable. For himself, there was no giving up. You fought, because if you didn't you were as good as dead. Even when it made no sense at all.

"I know you'd never deliberately hurt Weir. She knows that too."

Silence. He sat and watched the figure in the bed. Listened to the muffled typing of keys as Carson worked over his computer, to the distant sound of waves, to the quiet chink as McKay tugged on the restraints.

No sense at all, he reminded himself. "Fighting your corner would be a lot easier if you'd talk to me."

The man in the bed didn't respond. He gave another, heavy sigh, dropping his head into his hands. Found his fingers sticky once again and cursed, rubbing them across his trousers. "Dammit, McKay! You're not making this easy!"

He was aware of Beckett looking up from his computer, and he lifted his hand to wave vaguely in the doctor's direction. "Sorry. No shouting at the patients, I know."

Leant forward and addressed the bed in a hard toned whisper: "It's just pretty damn frustrating trying to talk to a brick wall."

The only response was another chink of the restraints against the railing.


	14. Conversations with Dead People

A/N: Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! You're all lovely.

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Fourteen - Conversations with Dead People

"Kate."

Carson looked up from his computer to offer her a smile. She gave him a nod, appreciating the effort. Knew that it was only a matter of time before the entire city would treat her like an outsider.

"Carson. Is he awake?"

"For a while now. He's responsive, but he hasn't said a word." The man gave a sigh, looking haggard, rubbing a hand over his beard. "I've taken some blood, but I'll leave the rest 'til tomorrow."

"You should sleep," she advised him.

"Aye, probably." He gestured at the bed. "The Major's with him."

McKay was lying on his side, facing away from the Major, large, padded cuffs tying his wrists to the bed rails. Sheppard sat in a hard backed plastic chair, slouched in a position that made her own joints ache in sympathy. He looked up at her approach, gave her a breezy grin that did nothing to mask the hostility in his eyes.

"Here to question the prisoner?"

To an observer the greeting might have seemed jovial, but she frowned, responded: "I want the same as you, Major."

His grin disappeared, and he pushed back his chair sharply. The legs made a high pitched shriek against the floor. "Which is?"

She ignored his glare, kept her tone cool. "To help Dr McKay."

Sheppard dropped his head. "Of course." He gestured at the chair. "Take a seat. Though I should warn you, he won't speak to anyone."

"That's alright." She sat, waiting as Sheppard lingered.

He patted the bed awkwardly, assured its occupant: "I'll be back." Then he turned and headed for the door without once looking back.

Kate waited until he had left before releasing a long breath. "Well," she said, addressing McKay, "I'm hoping you'll be a little more vocal with me. You may not believe it but I was telling Major Sheppard the truth, I really am here to help."

There was an indistinct mumble from the bed, and she leant forward. "I'm sorry?"

"I said," and he turned his head to stare at her from a pale face and a purple bruise on his chin, "tell me what I have to do to get out of here."

She inhaled sharply, and nodded. "That's a fair question."

"So?"

"So," and she ticked off on her fingers, "agree to Dr Beckett's tests, talk to me, talk to the Major, and be patient."

"I'm talking to you," he said sullenly, "Isn't that enough?"

Kate signed, pointedly. "Aside from him being your team leader, he's also your friend."

"No, he isn't." And McKay tried to roll over, his progress halted by the cuffs as they held back his arms.

Kate doodled on her notebook casually. "Why not?"

"I don't have to tell you."

"Yes, you do. Step two in getting out of here."

"Fine." He huffed into the pillow. "He's a liar."

"What did he lie to you about?"

"Wanting to help me. He thinks he knows me but he doesn't and I can't trust him. Not like I'm supposed to."

"He trusts you," she responded, mildly.

"Shouldn't. I'm dangerous."

She stiffened, wary of treading too far. "I don't think of you as dangerous."

"Then you're an idiot." He turned back to look at her. "You'll tell Elizabeth I'm sorry?"

"You can tell her yourself." She stilled the movement of her pen against the paper. "Since you've brought it up, do you want to tell me why you attacked Dr Weir?"

"She was trying to shut me up." He glanced at her. "They lied, her and Sheppard. Made up a lie to keep me in the city, keep me under their control. But I won't be locked up. Just wait. I won't be here long." And he tugged hard on the restraints to demonstrate. "He said they were my friends," he continued, absently. "But I don't listen to him anymore."

She scribbled on the notebook, _'voices?'_ "Listen to who?"

He shot her a dark look, and again pulled against the restraints. "I'm not stupid," he snapped. "If I tell you you'll keep me here forever, or send me back to that box."

"You said you'd talk to me," she reprimanded gently.

"Just to get out of here." His fingers tapped against the railing. "Tell you the answers you want to hear, right? Then you'll sign me out. You'll have to. Can't keep me here forever, not if you think…" and he trailed off.

"We're not trying to hurt you, Rodney," Kate said, leaning forward in her seat.

"No, that's a side-effect, right?" The finger tapping increased in its intensity. "Guinea pigs, that's the phrase you use. Prod and poke and make me run round a little maze." He turned his head towards her, eyes glittering. Stuttered: "Th-that's all it's ever been. And I know I don't belong here, but this is the f-first time it's ever, _ever_ seemed real."

She remembered his words from their last conversation. "You said you don't feel you belong here."

"I _don't_ belong here," he corrected. "I don't. You think you can talk to me and, and pills, right? P-pills and talking and tests and you'll get him back. Good 'ol McKay. But there's no normal and you can't go back. Not ever." He looked up at the ceiling. "That's why I can't be trusted. D-dangerous." Then, conversationally: "I've killed people."

Kate paused, laying both pen and paper down on her lap. "Dr Weir is going to be fine," she assured him, at a guess.

"Not her." He sounded annoyed.

Another guess. Kate felt she was making blind stabs in the dark. "Gaul and Abrahms. Tomei and –"

"Names," he interrupted. "Like they're supposed to mean something."

"Can we talk about them?"

"You can, if you like."

She recognised stubbornness, and changed the subject. "Why do you think you're here, Rodney? In Atlantis?"

"Didn't have a choice." He shifted restlessly against the restraints. "Never had one. No one ever asks me what I want. My p-parents –" And he stopped, pressing his mouth together, and twisting in the bed so he faced the opposite wall.

She winced, but pressed on, intuition overriding her sense of caution. "Tell me about them."

His response was little more than a whisper, spoken into the pillow. "They never asked me. They were scared of me, always were, keep me apart. Pretend like I'm every other kid. Then he died and they panicked. Like a n-nightmare. They shut me up, locked me away and forgot about me. I'm always being forgotten." He paused, then burst out with a soft half-sob: "I _died_…"

Kate shifted nervously in her seat, aware she was losing control over the conversation. "But you're here. You realise this is real, don't you?"

"An accident," he whispered into the mattress. "Trapped for all that time and then an accident and – and it's not real." He twisted suddenly back to look at her, insisted: "I'm fine." His thumb resumed tapping a nervous rhythm against the railings. "Just need some sleep. But hey, that's normal, right? Everyone's always busy, there's always something, y'know…" Broke off and stared at his fingers. Finished: "To do."

Inwardly Kate sighed. Despite McKay's willingness to talk to her she felt lost, adrift amidst a jumbled sea of nonsensical phrases. Nothing to help her bring focus to McKay, nothing except emotions – paranoia, anger, self-doubt – but there was an absence of anything concrete. Only assumptions.

"What do you remember about the nanovirus? Was that real?"

He stiffened, right hand clenching and unclenching spasmodically. "I don't remember."

"If it was real or –"

"I don't _remember,_" he repeated, and tugged on the restraints so hard the bed rattled. "I want out of these things."

She looked down at his right hand, and the neat white bandage tied around it. "How did you hurt your hand, Rodney?"

He shook his head violently, then started thrashing, kicking at the mattress, twisting his head frantically into the pillows and pulling so hard against the cuffs she was afraid he would hurt himself. "Let me out of here." And he shouted, a gurgle at the back of his throat: "Let me OUT!"

She rose from her seat, alarmed, turning towards the nurses' station to see Beckett running. He knocked her shoulder as he brushed past, without apology, shouting orders. Kate stepped back, helpless, watching a nurse plunge a needle into McKay's arm, listening to Carson's mantra repeated softly as the man laid his hands on his friend's chest to restrain him.

"It's okay. Rodney, it's okay –"

No, she thought, watching the man in the bed slump back into drugged slumber. Nothing will be okay again.


	15. Lonely Pudding

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Fifteen - Lonely Pudding

The mess hall was almost empty. Its patrons had long since departed, the food eaten, plates cleaned away. The cooks had cleaned down the tables, washed their hands, and left with only a mild reprimand to the over-stayers.

It had been a half-hearted plea. A dark, thunderous cloud rested over the table and both cooks and fellow diners had given them a wide berth. Now the three team members sat in the shadows, amidst uneaten food on forgotten plates, in silence.

Aiden had seen the looks, mixes of pity and confusion. Word had evidently travelled fast, even on a basis of half truths and guesses. He had done his best to follow Teyla and Major Sheppard's example and ignored it, but he'd found it difficult, particularly since he was still struggling to believe the news himself.

"You think there's anyone on Atlantis who doesn't know?"

"They don't _know_ anything," Sheppard retorted shortly. "All they have are whispers and guesses."

"Which may be an improvement on the truth," Teyla said softly.

Aiden sighed, pushing a solitary green vegetable around his plate with his fork. "The Doc's always seemed a little out there but," and he paused, added doubtfully: "I guess you really never know."

"Yes, you do," Sheppard said, fiercely. The Major had been snapping at everyone all evening, even frightening one of the female cooks when all she had done was offer him more rice. "Heightmeyer's jumping to conclusions. She likes to give people labels, which might have worked fine for her on Earth, in her safe hospital office, but not here. People operate outside the rules, that's how things are done. McKay is still McKay, always has been."

"I do not understand her diagnosis," Teyla admitted. "Dr Beckett told me it was both a physical and an emotional disease, but I do not see how one can have a disease of emotions."

"It's a physical problem," Ford said, hesitantly. After Weir's brief, uncomfortable briefing he had gone to an empty lab and called up a number of papers on the subject of schizophrenia, but had given up after a few paragraphs. He'd picked up phrases, here and there, enough to confirm what he already thought he knew, but he was still no clearer as to the mechanics. "Something about chemicals in the brain, I think. But it can be triggered by emotion. I think," he added, lamely.

"And until the physical problem is treated, there is a danger that other events may lead to extreme responses?"

"Basically." He stared glumly at the lonely vegetable and stabbed it ruthlessly with his fork. "But there isn't a cure. There are pills, I think, but they're not really a solution." He looked up at the troubled Athosian. "Don't your people have anything similar, Teyla? Anyone, with, uh, the same illness, anyone –"

"Wacko," Sheppard interrupted, not looking up from his intense glare at the tabletop.

Teyla frowned. Admitted, after a thoughtful pause: "It is not common, but it is known. Some are born seeing the world differently, and others are effected after a culling. The Wraith are always upon us, giving us no time to stop and grieve our dead, and some become trapped in that moment. It is as though the connection between their body and spirit is lost."

"What happens to them?" Ford asked.

She shook her head. "We have no medicines to help, no cures. There is little we can do, except care for them, protect them as best we can. But it is difficult. The Wraith prey on the weakest and many are lost." Her gaze fell to her hands, folded on the table top. "They are mourned." Then asked: "What of your own people?"

He grimaced. "Not so great."

"Depends on how rich you are," Sheppard said. He was leaning back on his chair, resting on the back two legs. "There are hospitals. Some nice ones, big gardens, pretty nurses – kind of like holiday camp, but with padded cells. Some aren't so nice. The military have some."

"And lots of people are fine," Aiden interrupted, worried by the level of despondency in his CO's voice.

"Take a couple of pills and everything goes away?" Sheppard shook his head. "You think Weir can keep him on active duty, even if that were true?"

"He will be taken off the team," Teyla said, and it wasn't a question.

"There's lab work," Aiden put in, hopefully.

The Major looked miserable. "Working with alien technology? Researching power supplies and weapons?"

He started to feel as wretched as Sheppard looked. "There's got to be something," he protested, feeling foolish. "It's _McKay_."

Teyla sighed. "It did not seem like Dr McKay when I last spoke with him. He was different. I fear –" And she hesitated, changed her mind. "I tried to speak to him of the virus that killed his colleagues. It is this that Dr Heightmeyer believes triggered his attack on Dr Weir?"

"Amongst other things," Sheppard muttered.

"He did not seem to remember at all," she continued, softly. "There was no recognition in his eyes, no sense that he knew of what I spoke. It was as though I was talking to someone else."

"He wasn't himself the other night," Ford agreed, slumping in his chair. "Maybe Heightmeyer's right. She's the expert, I guess. And, well," he faltered, "the doc's a civilian. He's not lost people before and that –" and he shuddered, "that wasn't combat."

Teyla shot a dark look at him. "You believe because Dr McKay is not part of your military that he was always more likely to react in this way?"

"No," he replied, quickly. "But… the civilians have spent their lives in a lab, they've never experienced anything like that before."

"And you have," she rebuked, anger flitting across her face.

"No, it's just –" And he faltered, lapsing into vague hand gestures. Struggled to find the words. "The doc's got a lot weighing on him. All the scientists do. I never really understood that before the virus but I do now. They're the ones who have to figure out how to make the city work and how to build weapons against the Wraith."

"And we protect them?" Sheppard said, dully.

"I guess, yeah. And McKay, he's the head of all of them. If it wasn't for him this city would be back at the bottom of the ocean. All I'm saying is…" And again he paused, thinking of the fresh graves dug on the mainland. "He figured out how to shut down the nanovirus. But people died. It'd affect anybody, that's all I'm saying."

Teyla's expression softened in apology. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. You experienced the nanovirus as well."

He shivered, remembering the screams of Tomei, and the anguish in the eyes of the other scientists. "I wish I didn't remember."

"I told Dr Heightmeyer what I saw," she said, quietly. "I am not sure I did the right thing."

Sheppard shrugged. "McKay almost killed Weir. I think the cat's out of the bag."

Aiden didn't even smile at the look of confusion that passed across Teyla's face. "It just doesn't seem right. There should be a different explanation."

"Like?" Sheppard challenged. The Major scowled, shifting forward so his chair dropped back onto its four legs. "It's all sewn up, Lieutenant. If we were on Earth we'd be signing McKay into the nearest nuthouse and throwing away the key."

Ford opened his mouth to protest, but Sheppard was already on his feet, and a hand on his arm warned him not to say anything.

"You should both get some sleep," Sheppard declared, moving away from the table. "Elizabeth wants us to find a replacement for McKay as soon as possible."

Again, Aiden felt compelled to say something, but the grip on his arm squeezed gently, and he stayed silent. Watched as Sheppard left the room, the man's shoulders bowed under a heavy weight.

"He is not handling this well," Teyla said quietly, removing her hand from Ford's arm.

"I don't blame him." He sighed. "I know McKay's never made himself the most popular guy in the city, but he doesn't deserve this."

"No one does."

"Wish we could do something." He stared at the plate before him. "We've got an entire galaxy to explore and we're living in the city of the Ancients, you'd think there'd be something we could do."

Teyla offered him a sad smile. "He needs us, Lieutenant. As does Major Sheppard. Dr McKay will always be part of this team, regardless of whether he continues to go through the Stargate with us."

He returned the smile, but it felt hollow and fake. "You going to finish that?" he asked, using his spoon to point at the half eaten pudding languishing on Teyla's tray.

She stared at the desert in confusion, then looked up at him. "No. I'm not hungry."

"Yeah." He dropped the spoon. It clattered against the tray, the sound echoing around the empty mess hall. "Me neither."


	16. Et Tu, John?

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Sixteen - Et Tu, John?

They had moved him to a holding cell on the request of Dr Heightmeyer, who had suggested McKay might do better without restraints. But Radek recognised a suicide watch when he saw one. Two guards posted at the door to Rodney's prison, nameless. He nodded at them as he passed and one returned the gesture, the strict military façade softening into a slight smile. He glanced at the name tag, Cevallos, noting it for future reference.

It was a skill he had admired in Carson; the ability to remember faces and to place names, to greet each person passed in the corridor with a smile, to know even a small, insignificant detail. Too much Athosian wine had the doctor admitting his fear of the impersonal, of wanting more than a label to each body bag.

It had been clear from day one that Dr McKay preferred the other option. It had taken weeks before the physicist was able to recall Radek's own name, and several months before the he referred to his lower rank colleagues as more than: 'Hey, you.'

That the memory game had accelerated after the deaths of Gaul and Abrahms, had not gone unnoticed.

Perhaps that was Rodney's mistake, Zelenka worried. Knowing the names of each man and woman taken out by the nanovirus. Perhaps distance and aloofness was better. Perhaps, had McKay stuck to his original prickly wall of personal space, he might not be where he was now.

Which was in the cell once inhabited by the city's only Wraith prisoner.

Radek wondered whether there was irony in that.

The cell was a long way from any inhabited area of Atlantis, a fact reflected in the state of the room. Power to the air conditioning system was sporadic at best, activated briefly for the Wraith, but not long enough to rid the area of the smell of sea water and stale dust.

Zelenka had found Atlantis to be a cold, unforgiving place upon their arrival, and it had not been the discovery of new technology that had changed his mind, but the glow given by its new inhabitants. A warmth and life that came from less artificial means than the temperature regulators. This did not extend to the city's lower depths, and the prison cells, areas untouched by sunlight.

Never had he found the city so harsh as in that moment.

McKay sat in the shadows, leaning against the cot that had been positioned within the centre of the cell. Dressed in red hospital scrubs, and with his knees drawn up to his chest, the scientist sat in silence, his head dropped forward, staring at the floor. The only sound was a harsh, unpleasant scraping, and as Zelenka strained to see into the dark he caught a glimpse of movement. Of McKay's thumb being dragged repeatedly across the back of his right hand, and the slight sound of tearing fabric as the bandages were shredded beneath supple fingers.

"I do not think Carson will be pleased," he reprimanded softly, trying not to sound as horrified by the act as he felt. A sick feeling, one that had lain in his stomach since Dr Weir had called him into her office, rose into the back of his throat.

The figure in the cell looked up briefly, evidently decided his visitor was uninteresting, and went back to his assault on his hand.

"Let me guess, he's playing dumb?"

Radek started, turning to see Sheppard stood just inside the doorway. The Major looked haunted, dark rings circling his eyes, the hint of stubble across his cheeks. Faked a grin and a wave, sauntering across the small space to stand beside Zelenka and peer into the cell.

"You've always been a stubborn son of a bitch."

Silence. Zelenka pulled his eyes away from the cell to look at Sheppard. Wondered at his appearance, when he knew from Carson that the Major had spent most of the day in the infirmary, despite, in Carson's words, 'Rodney being as stubborn as an ox.' He watched Sheppard pace across the cell wall before coming to a stop, pushing his hands into his pockets in an attempt at casual relaxation that Zelenka did not buy.

He spoke in a whisper. "I had hoped for something more."

"You're not the only one." The Major shook his head, stepping away from the prison.

"It feels…" and he floundered, searching for an accurate translation of the Czech. "unreal. I cannot believe that it is true and yet Carson, he would not take these steps unless he believed in his actions."

"He's the doctor," Sheppard agreed. "And Heightmeyer, too. The expert witness."

"Still…" He glanced at the cell, lowered his voice further. "I cannot agree with their diagnosis. It seems…" and he lapsed into a mumble of Czech. "Unbelievable."

"Ah," Sheppard said, his voice taking on a strange, singsong-like quality, "But what about all the evidence?"

Radek snorted softly. "You think I do not see? All that they say about McKay can be said about me, also. And more."

"All that who says?"

He lowered his eyes quickly. "People talk, Major."

"Right." Sheppard scowled. "Gossip."

"Sometimes worse than the truth." Another glance towards the cell. "But not always."

"Kavanagh been causing trouble?"

He started picking at the fabric of his sleeve, nervous under Sheppard's intense gaze. "No. Not towards me. And I am no doormat, Major. Dr Kavanagh is skilled at many things, but in some areas his intelligence is lacking. He will cause no trouble. But he was there, when David was injured. And the weeks before. He makes his own mind, then preaches to others."

Sheppard cursed under his breath. "Low life."

"Most do not listen," Zelenka added, warmly. "More people place their trust in Rodney than he might think."

"Life at the top, huh?"

He nodded. "I had hoped," and he looked again towards the cell, "to speak with him about some experiments. Despite everything, he is still the man I know."

A slight smile crept across Sheppard's face, a look of appreciation. "Worth a try. You can't drag him away from a new discovery."

He returned the smile, quoted: "Though this be madness, yet there is method in it."

"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool."

They turned. McKay was on his feet, stood next to the nearest cell wall, clasping his injured right hand in his left.

"Shakespeare." Rodney nodded to himself, rocking gently on his heels. "Stories of murder and madmen."

"Not all of them," Sheppard said. Zelenka watched him take several steps towards the cell. "I'm not really a fan of the bard myself, but I'm pretty sure I remember him writing about romance and comedy."

"Not his best work." One finger disengaged itself from the clasped hand to wag at them. "Julius Caesar. Lies and betrayal."

"So I'm Brutus?" The Major's face darkened. "Not sure I think the comparison is accurate."

"Who's behind bars?"

Zelenka winced, as a look of remorse fell across the Major's face. "For your own well being, Rodney," he corrected, whilst watching Sheppard's shoulders slump. "Because we are your friends."

"Enjoying being in charge?"

He felt himself flush, pushing his glasses up his nose, an action driven by his nerves. "No. It is not a position I would choose to be in. It belongs to you."

"But they won't let me back there. Not ever." The stray finger drew patterns in the air. "How do you do it? Having all this knowledge in your brain. There's no room for a man to hold the whole universe in his head, and yet I do. And I know you do too. From the smallest particle to strings, great strings, linking everything together. I feel like a god."

"You often tell us you are one," Sheppard put in, his voice dry. "And we are mere mortals."

"No." The finger wagged again. "Shadows. Dreams. Part of this dream – of my dream, being a god, and flying amongst stars. Can't see myself for all this science. And you all – tiny, insignificant. I never saw anything like it."

"Yeah," Sheppard continued, his voice carrying a note of caution, "well that's the Pegasus galaxy for you. Like Christmas every day."

"Christmas." McKay frowned. "Presents and eating too much. Arguments. Belief in a false god."

"That's a discussion better held another day."

Rodney lifted his chin slightly to look at his visitors. Zelenka had the uncomfortable feeling of being studied, as though he were a specimen under a microscope. "You don't believe in god?"

"Perhaps," he suggested warily, "We should talk of other things. I need your knowledge, Rodney. I hoped you could help me with a problem."

He was aware of Sheppard moving to his side, encouraging him to take a step towards the cell. Saw McKay stiffen but pressed onwards regardless, trusting in Sheppard's plan for normalcy.

"A problem? Answer man." McKay shook his head. "But I don't have the answers."

"No?" He gave his best breezy smile. "I disagree. You may not be the superman you pretend to be, McKay, but I will give you this – you are preferable to Kavanagh."

"Yeah," Sheppard added. "Just think what the guy could be up to while you're away from the lab."

"He whines about his computer," Zelenka added. "It is too slow, it has faults, it breaks down. I will not be able to stop him from stealing yours."

He paused for a moment, but McKay said nothing. The scientist stood in the cell and swayed slightly, head lowered, chin touching his chest.

"And I can't break in another geek," Sheppard added, his tone light and casual, betraying none of the strain shown in his face. "It took long enough to get you house-trained – I don't have the time to cope with anyone else. No offence," he added, glancing at Zelenka.

Radek shrugged. "None taken. You, yourself Major, would require some teaching before I would join your team."

He had the satisfaction of seeing Sheppard's eyebrows try to bury themselves into his hairline. "Oh, nice."

"But yes. Rodney has told tales of you and Lieutenant Ford. I am not to be pushed around, and I know you are bossy. Like old maid," he added, and felt the full glare of Sheppard's scowl, shortly softened by a grin.

"Mother knows best."

"Ah, now I see why Rodney complains. But you will not train me, Major. I refuse. McKay, you must return to the team, for who else is there to keep the man in check?" And he turned towards the cell, expecting to hear a sarcastic retort.

It happened so quickly there was no time for him to shout an alarm. One minute McKay was stood, hands clasped, beside the wall of the cell, and the next he had pushed himself forward with his feet and had thrown himself against the forcefield. Sharp white energy crackled and sparked around the man's body, muscles convulsing. Zelenka started forward, aware of Sheppard crying out, and of the pounding feet of the two guards. A few seconds passed into an eternity before the field shut down, the energy dying with a final loud crackle, releasing its prisoner. McKay slumped against the floor bonelessly.


	17. Did You Touch Anything?

A/N: Every person who guessed what was really going ongets a cookie and my eternal admiration. Now you've all worked it out, there's just Weir, Beckett, and the others to convince...

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Seventeen - Did You Touch Anything?

Beckett had appeared at the head of the team of medics rushing to the prison cell. Sheppard wasn't surprised at the doctor's appearance, but he did wonder whether the Scotsman took his own advice, and ever slept in his own bed.

McKay didn't move. Not while Zelenka was shouting at the guards – in panicked Czech – to open the cell door, not while Sheppard was kneeling beside him, checking his pulse, or tapping on his cheek gently. He didn't move when Carson arrived, snapping orders and bundling the scientist onto the stretcher Didn't move during the journey to the infirmary, Sheppard keeping heel every step of the way.

John now sat on the edge of a bed, having been waved off to a safe distance by Carson. He swung his legs impatiently, and watched the scientist not move.

He blocked out the sounds of hushed voices, of the scratch of Heightmeyer's pen against her ever present notebook, of a soft beeping from the machines monitoring McKay's heart rate. The presence of the guards, shadows from the cell to the infirmary, was unimportant. Zelenka had stood beside him for a while, wringing his hands in consternation, but after Beckett had assured them both that McKay had done himself no permanent damage, and that the infirmary was becoming too crowded, he'd made his clearly reluctant exit.

Beckett had tried the same trick with Sheppard, but with one look at his hard eyes and tightly pressed mouth, Carson had evidently decided it wasn't worth the hassle, and now left him alone. Busied himself giving orders and checking vitals and speaking in low tones with Weir.

Which left Sheppard free to watch McKay.

He was the first to see the Canadian's fingers twitch, and was off the bed immediately. Carson was only just behind, flashing a penlight into Rodney's eyes and asking him with a professional detachment that belied his eagerness: "Rodney, can you hear me?"

McKay groaned. One hand lifted shakily in a clear attempt to swat at the penlight, only to find itself halted by a restraint. Slowly, the physicist cracked open one eye, and winced.

"Care to turn the lights down before you blind me?"

Carson clucked at a nurse, and several seconds later the light in the room had fallen to an early dusk. Sheppard, now hovering beside the ECG machine, balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, leaning forward to see both blue eyes open.

McKay gave a small gasp, and another wince, then turned his head towards Sheppard. A number of emotions passed across his face; confusion, then relief, then fear.

"Oh crap." He twitched his legs, his fear turning to horror when they also made the bed restraints chink.

"Take it easy," Beckett said, in a soothing voice. "You gave us all quite the scare."

The blue eyes turned to look at the doctor, and Sheppard recognised a plea: "Any chance you could untie me?"

Sheppard saw Beckett glance towards Weir, than back at the bed. Felt sorry for the Scotsman, and put in: "I'm not sure that'd be such a great idea, McKay. Just relax for the minute, okay?"

Rodney pushed his head back into the pillow, tilting his chin to the ceiling to peer upwards. "Major. Good to see you."

He grinned, despite himself. "You too, Rodney."

McKay returned the smile, then winced again. Sheppard saw the injured hand twitch against the bed.

Weir took a step closer. She had appeared in the infirmary only minutes after Beckett had roused her, apparently from sleep. Her uniform was rumpled, her jacket undone. The bruise on her neck was slowly turning an ugly shade of purple, Sheppard noticed. Her voice was still painfully hoarse. "Do you remember what happened, Rodney?"

McKay closed his eyes, spoke in a rush of words: "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth. God, if I had - I didn't, I mean, it wasn't me, I tried to stop him, I tried –"

The beeping noise from the ECG suddenly increased in speed, and Sheppard saw Beckett shift his feet, turning to mouth an order to one of the nurses. He wasn't the only one who saw, for McKay was bucking against the bed in a panic, his gaze fixed on the doctor. "Carson, no, just wait, please –"

Sheppard reached out to touch McKay's shoulder firmly. Heard himself say: "Take it easy. The doc's here to help."

McKay shook his head quickly, shrugging off the touch. "No, you don't understand, you don't…" Then he broke off, taking a deep breath and dropping back into the bed. "Please," he finished, weakly.

Beckett, one hand resting on the ECG machine, hesitated, worry etching his features as he studied his friend. "Alright," he soothed, uncertainly, "but I want you to rest." He set the needle down, and Sheppard saw McKay relax a fraction. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Rodney swallowed, a slight grimace of pain passing across his face. Reaching out to the table, Sheppard picked up a beaker of ice chips and spooned one into his friend's mouth, saying nothing at the flush of scarlet across McKay's cheeks, and only giving a tight nod at the mumbled, grateful: "Thanks."

"Take your time," Heightmeyer soothed, and the whole room saw McKay shoot daggers at her.

"I don't have time," he snapped, before tearing his gaze away and back to Beckett. "The forcefield."

Beckett dropped his gaze. "You could have done yourself some real damage, Rodney."

"It was the only way I could get him to stop."

There was a sudden flurry of looks exchanged between the two professionals, scepticism and fear. Sheppard tensed, readying himself for further disappointment.

"This voice in your head?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

"Kezan." McKay swallowed again. "He told me his name."

"Kezan." That same neutral tone. His shoulders knotted with painful intensity.

A look of dark anger flashed across McKay's face. Snapped: "Don't condescend to me, Major."

_If I didn't know better…_

Sheppard blinked, a slight smile creeping to the edges of his mouth. "Sorry," he apologised, returning to a normal tone. Patted McKay on the shoulder. "Go on."

McKay shot him another glare, but it softened after a second. He took a breath. "His name is Kezan. He's an alien from the planet M4P-278."

Weir again, her voice scraping over each consonant. "There were no aliens on M4P-278. The planet was dead."

McKay shook his head, impatiently, and Sheppard felt another piece of himself relax ever so slightly. "Obviously. But not their minds. Not all of them, anyway." His brows knitted together in pain, his hand twitching again against the sheets.

Beckett was again checking the ECG monitor. "What hurts?"

"My head. Migraine." Rodney hesitated for a second, then turned to gaze up at the doctor. "Carson, please. I'm alright. Hold off on the drugs."

Carson frowned, but turned back to the bed, crossing his arms. "Go on."

"There's something – _someone­­­_ – in my head. Has been for days, ever since M4P-278. At first I thought it was just strange dreams, but now –" One hand stretched out and jerked against the restraints. Sheppard watched him clench his fist in apparent frustration. "He's in my head," McKay said, stressing each syllable.

"This Kezan?"

"Yes." McKay's eyes turned up towards Weir. "Believe me, I know how crazy I sound and," and he cut off with a short, gurgled laugh, "that would seem to fit right about now."

"So," and Elizabeth cleared her throat awkwardly, "it is Kezan who has been making you –"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his eyes darting away from her. Sheppard saw a muscle twitching in McKay's left arm, fine tremors running down to his wrist. "Can't you stop that?"

Carson pulled an apologetic face. "Side effect of the shock of the forcefield, I'm afraid. It will pass."

McKay sighed, sounding decidedly exasperated. "It was the only thing I could think of. Not like I could just stick a finger in a plug socket."

"A good thing," Sheppard commented.

"Yes, well. I had a theory. I needed to see if it worked. I needed," and he broke off, clenching the fist of his left arm in an apparent attempt to stop the tremors. "I needed to shut him up. It won't be permanent. I think it's something to do with energy – but that's your voodoo, Carson, not mine. All I know is that for the past week I," and he stopped, pulling at the restraints on his arm. "Look, just let me out of this thing for five minutes, alright? I'm not about to go for a repeat performance, trust me."

Trust him. Sheppard glanced from McKay to Carson, who was already half-way through his refusal.

"I'm sorry, Rodney, but –"

"One arm," he interrupted, receiving a grateful look from McKay. "He's not going to go anywhere, and even if McKay could do a Houdini, there are guards on the door."

"I have an itch," McKay added, offering: "Unless you'd like to do the honours, Carson?"

Beckett's face pulled into a look of disgust, but the expression was softened by a warmth and sense of relief. "Fine," he muttered, reaching over to untie the strap around McKay's left wrist.

Rodney sighed happily, lifting his free hand to scratch at the side of his nose. "You have no idea how much that's been bugging me," he said, tilting his head backwards.

Sheppard returned the grin. "I can imagine."

"Rodney," Kate interrupted, "tell us about Kezan."

"Right. Sorry." McKay shook his head. "I keep getting distracted. I think it's him, trying to get back." He scratched his nose a final time, then dropped his hand to lie on his chest. "I don't know much about him. I know he can look through my thoughts but I can't get the same grip on his. They're cluttered, disorganised. They make Zelenka look tidy. He wasn't born on M4P-278, I know that. And he's not an Ancient. He's too scared, for a start."

Heightmeyer took a step towards the bed, and Sheppard noted with a sense of fury that she was taking notes down on her pad. "What other emotions does this Kezan have, Rodney?"

"He's confused, angry, mostly terrified." McKay's gaze fell on the notepad. Snapped, angrily: "I'm not a bloody lab mouse. Stop treating me like one."

"Sorry." She put away the pen, but Sheppard noticed she continued to hold the notebook to her chest.

"What else?" Elizabeth said, taking a step to stand in front of Heightmeyer.

Bitterly: "I know he doesn't want to leave."

"How did he get in?" Carson asked.

"Touch anything on the planet you didn't tell me about?" Sheppard asked, suddenly suspicious.

McKay rolled his eyes, such a familiar gesture that John could almost forget Heightmeyer's diagnosis, and block out the sound of the restraints against the bed. "Sure, anything I could. Of course not. But I brought something back, a device," And he shook his head again, closing his eyes for a moment. Opened them and swore. "Dammit."

"Concentrate," Elizabeth urged. "You're saying that this device is how Kezan was able to enter your mind?"

"Yes. I think he was trapped in it. The building was abandoned, forgotten, and he'd been stuck in that thing for all those years. That's why he's so scared, he's terrified he'll be trapped there again. I remember -" And again he cut off, and it was Sheppard who cursed, watching his friend tense in the bed.

"Rodney."

"Sorry. It's hard –" and he took a breath. "I keep feeling _things._ Bits and pieces of his memory, nothing substantial but…" and he shivered. "Kezan escaped the first chance he could get, and he's been in here ever since. I think it took him a while to realise where he was, how –" And he gasped, and suddenly the stutter was back, filling Sheppard with a sense of dread. "D-dammit! Not yet, n-not yet –"

"McKay!" He made it sound like an order, but belayed that by reaching out and gripping the man's free hand firmly with his own. He could feel the fine tremors wracking Rodney's arm travel up his own. "How do we get him out?"

McKay turned his head against the pillow to stare up at Sheppard with desperation. "I don't know. God, I don't –" And he screwed his eyes shut, gripping Sheppard's hand so tightly his knuckles were white. "I said not _yet_ –"

Beckett had broken away from the bed, snapping orders at a nurse who promptly scurried away. He leant down over the bed, laying one hand over his friend's forehead.

"Just hold on a second, Rodney –"

"It _hurts_ –" came back the response, from gritted teeth.

"I guessed that," Carson soothed, "but don't worry, in a second –"

Suddenly McKay tore his left hand out of Sheppard's grip, almost breaking John's fingers in the process. The fist curved a high, speedy arch across the bed and landed hard against Beckett's nose. The physician staggered backwards with a yell, clutching at his injured face and knocking into the medical equipment behind him. Elizabeth moved to grab Carson before he could do himself more damage, while Sheppard snatched at McKay's free hand, managing to grab his wrist and yank the arm downwards.

"I told you!" McKay howled, yanking his arm down with incredible strength, Sheppard barely managing to hold on. "You said you would help me, and you lied, you tricked me, and I won't let you send me back! No more, won't let you, I won't be –"

The petite nurse had returned, along with the two guards. One grabbed McKay's arm at the elbow, while the other, Cevallos, placed his hands on the physicist's chest, pressing him down into the mattress. The nurse bent over McKay's arm, now pinned between Sheppard and Cevallos, and plunged a needle into his flesh.

McKay snapped his head to the side to glare at Sheppard with thunderous eyes, and spat: "I _hate_ you. Liar."

Then the drug started to take effect, the muscles in McKay's body relaxing, dropping him against the bed, his eyes rolling back up into his head, the lids closing.

For several seconds the only sound in the room was that of the breathless panting of its occupants.

Carson moved away from Elizabeth's support, probing his face gently with a hesitant finger. "Not broken, thank god," he said, though there was crimson on his fingertip.

"Get him restrained," Sheppard heard Elizabeth order, and it was only when Cevallos, stood beside him, said something that he realised he was still holding onto McKay's wrist. Slowly, he released his grip and took a step back, watching the guard strap the free hand back to the bed rail.

"Elizabeth –"

She turned to look at him, her face pale, expression tightly controlled. "I know." She glanced at Carson, who had apparently decided his face would survive, and was now rechecking the equipment around the bed. "As soon as he can be transferred back into the cell below, I want a staff meeting."


	18. Apriori Arguments

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Eighteen - Apriori Arguments

The room was unusually crowded. Weir sat in the centre, as usual, a picture of control. Carson sat to her left, looking nervous and uncomfortable, shadows beneath his eyes. Sheppard had insisted upon the presence of Teyla and Ford, who had been waiting outside the infirmary with an impatient Zelenka. To his distaste, Heightmeyer sat beside the Czech, still holding her notebook.

He confronted Elizabeth over the psychologist's presence, to little success.

"Do we need her here?"

He was aware of Kate shifting in her seat uncomfortably, and almost felt bad for her. Almost. The memory of McKay chained to an infirmary bed was too fresh. The idea of them having done this to the physicist and being wrong, too terrible to think of.

"Now more than ever, Major." Elizabeth's voice was a roughly edged hush. "We need to determine what is best for Rodney."

"Getting this damn alien out of his head!"

Heightmeyer had already started shaking her head. "I don't see how it's even possible, Major. We're not talking about the transfer of computer data here. The human mind is an incredibly complex thing, and it's dynamic energy, something that cannot be captured in any form of mechanical device."

"How can you be sure?" he challenged. "A year ago I'd have told you that travelling to another galaxy was impossible, but here we are. This universe contains some pretty amazing things."

Gently: "Major…"

"No." He turned to her, forcefully. "Elizabeth, I realise what I'm saying is real science-fiction here, but I also know that one of the smartest guys in this entire galaxy is strapped to a bed in that room telling me that it's possible!"

Beckett winced. "Major, McKay's not exactly been the most coherent person these past few days."

"I know." Sheppard took a breath, released it slowly. "I know that, doc'. But for the first time in a week I've felt like the guy I've been talking to has been the same guy I've known since Antarctica. For once, Rodney sounded like Rodney."

"And then he attacked Doctor Beckett," Heightmeyer said, stiffly.

"This Kezan did," he snapped. Glanced towards Weir. "Come on, Elizabeth. This is McKay, we're talking about. He'd never intentionally hurt another member of this expedition."

"No." Elizabeth's fingers were slowly rubbing the wound on her neck. "Not intentionally."

"Which just proves that McKay isn't in control."

"But not by what means." She sighed, dropping her hands to the table. "Major, believe me, I would love for there to be an alternative explanation." Her gaze flicked downwards, and for a moment Sheppard could see pain in her eyes, a sense of vulnerable hurt. "The person who attacked me was not the Rodney McKay I know." Then back up, the mask firmly in place: "But my duty to this city means that I must be certain of any conclusion before taking action on it."

He drew a hand through his hair, ruffling unruly spikes. "I know." Paused. "Look, if I'm wrong, then we can go back to doping him and locking him up. But if I'm right, and we do nothing…." He stopped, again draw back to the memory of McKay huddled on the floor of the cell, deliberately cutting into the skin of his own hand.

Weir had pressed her lips into a thin line, her head ducked, obviously thinking along the same path. After a moment she looked up and across at Beckett, her shoulders stiff, eyes impossible to read. "Is it even remotely possible, Carson?"

He was already shaking his head doubtfully. "I don't see how."

Sheppard turned to Teyla, hopeful. "Heard of anything like this?"

The Athosian shook her head, slowly. "I am sorry, Major. Nothing of this nature has ever been heard of by my people. I find it hard to believe that one body could contain the minds of others."

"There may be a more medically based explanation," Kate broke in. "The possibility of Dissociative Identity Disorder."

"Multiple personality disorder," Carson explained, glancing at Kate. "But I wouldn't be so quick to make the diagnosis."

"Nevertheless," she continued, focussing her gaze on Weir, "it's a real possibility, particularly given that it's closely related to Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. The deaths of Drs Gaul and Abrahm, the effects of the nanovirus -"

"Which we've discussed before," Carson broke in, his voice tinged with nervousness.

The knot in Sheppard's shoulders was growing with painful intensity. Snapped: "You're just worried that your original diagnosis will be wrong, that you've shut him up in that cell for the wrong reasons."

Kate visibly paled, and he suddenly regretted his words. "I realise you're concerned for Dr McKay," she said, her voice tight, "but you have to understand I'm approaching this from a medical view, Major. The symptoms fit the explanation."

"I thought doctors weren't supposed to have apriori theories," he shot back. "You choose a conclusion then pick the circumstances to fit."

"Major!" Elizabeth had pushed her seat back, her back ramrod straight and her eyes glaring at Sheppard. "May I remind you that at this stage there is no definitive explanation behind Dr McKay's actions. Dr Heightmeyer has her theory, and you have yours. It's a matter of deciding who is right. Now," and she sat forward, directing her comments at the table, "if we could state what we _do_ know."

Sheppard forced himself to take a deep breath, reigning in his anger. "We know this started after the mission to M4P-278."

"Not necessarily," Kate broke in, still pale, but determined.

"Fine," he returned, aware of his voice sounding hard. "Then it accelerated after the mission." He turned to Weir. "Hasn't the SGC experienced anything like this before?"

Weir frowned, folding her hands neatly on the table top. "I've read as many of their past mission reports as I had the time to, Major. But I don't remember anything of this nature."

"There was that mind swap thing," Ford said, suddenly. He became the object of five stares, and shuffled. "I wasn't there for the details, but it was talked about on base, one of those SG-1 legends, you know?"

"A mind swapping device?" Teyla prompted, frowning.

"Yeah." Ford hesitated, anxious over the details. "SG-1 met this alien inventor guy on a planet and he tricked Doctor Jackson into touching one of his machines. Next thing you know, this alien was walking around in Doctor Jackson's body while Jackson was in the infirmary trapped in the alien's."

Zelenka, his presence forgotten by Sheppard, suddenly spoke up from his end of the table. "A machine was able to do this?"

Ford nodded eagerly. "Yeah. I guess it's in Area 51 now." He shrugged, helplessly. "I can't remember a lot about it, but it'll be in the records."

"But is not Dr McKay sharing his mind with that of the alien?" Teyla asked. "The two of them within one?"

"So he claims," Carson said. He looked tired, fresh lines edging his eyes and mouth. "I wouldn't have said even swapping minds between bodies was possible, but sharing them?"

"Could you test for that?"

"I could do a PET scan," he admitted, then paused. Added, with great reluctance: "I'm not sure what that would prove. I'm not even sure what I should be looking for."

"But it would have to show up?" Ford asked.

Carson splayed his hands against the table helplessly. "I don't know, lad. Two brainwaves in one brain? I would guess that something would show up but to be honest, this is outside my area of expertise. I might see nothing, particularly if McKay is completely subdued by Kezan."

"Except after experiencing the shock of the forcefield," Teyla put in.

"Aye, true. It's something to be considered." Another worried frown. "Of course, if nothing shows up…"

"Then it supports the idea that this 'Kezan' is part of McKay's delusion," Kate finished.

"In either case." Elizabeth continued, "I have to be concerned for Rodney's safety, and the security of the city."

"Restraints?" Teyla asked, concerned.

"I hope it won't come to that."

Sheppard's jaw clenched uncomfortably. "You're keeping McKay in the cell?"

She looked apologetic, but firm. "I know this is difficult, Major, but it's the best thing for Rodney. Whatever the cause of his condition."

"If Doctor McKay can hear us," Teyla said, thoughtfully, "Could we not tell him we're trying to help him?"

Elizabeth was already shaking her head. "If it's the case that Rodney is sharing his mind with someone else then we need to keep this amongst us. There can't be any hint that we're treating this as anything other than a medical illness in case this Kezan finds out. We have no way of knowing what he's capable of doing to Rodney."

Sheppard shivered. It was something he'd considered, the question of what McKay was experiencing, trapped in his own body, and whether Kezan could do real harm to the scientist's own mind. Whether Kezan could wipe the physicist out completely.

Aiden was looking in alarm at Carson, evidently in more surprise than Sheppard. "You think he could harm McKay?"

"No idea," Carson answered, adding quickly: "And I wouldn't like to guess either way. Elizabeth is right, we have to hide this from him as best we can."

Weir sighed, deeply. "We also need to look at causes. Major, you saw nothing on the planet that would help us?"

He shrugged. "The place was in ruins. McKay said it was probably used as some lab but the equipment was too badly damaged to be salvable."

"And no indications as to the race who built it?"

Another shift of his shoulders. "It wasn't Wraith or Ancient. And whoever it was, they abandoned it hundreds of years ago."

There was a sudden flurry of Czech from the other end of the table. "The device," Zelenka burbled, excitedly. "The, ah, object from M4P-278. Rodney said it is responsible for his current state, yes? Major Sheppard, you did not pick it up?"

Sheppard frowned, glancing from Ford and Teyla to the Czech. "No. McKay's the only one who touched it."

"Ah, yes, Rodney, he is possessive about his finds. No one may come near until he has decided on its lack of interest." He clucked disapprovingly. "I tell him he is selfish. I am sure, as a child, he never shared his toys."

"I thought you had no clear idea of what the device did," Elizabeth interjected, neatly cutting Radek off mid-babble. "If the device had this power wouldn't that be clearer? And weren't you working on it with Dr McKay? You must have handled the device yourself."

"True, yes, but –" and Zelenka held one, slightly trembling finger up in the air, "I have a theory." Then he dropped his hand, muttering to himself. "Only a theory. But it makes sense – more, certainly, than the alternative – and yet –" He lifted his head and looked resolutely at Weir. "I request permission to return to my lab, accompanied by Major Sheppard."

Sheppard could see Elizabeth's eyebrows raise in an echo of his own. "Then you believe there may be something in Rodney's claim that the device did this to him?"

Zelenka nodded, his head bobbing up and down furiously. "Yes. Possibly. It is worth looking, no?"

Sheppard shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling a glimmer of hope. "Permission to leave?" he said, forcing himself to be formal.

Elizabeth looked at him, and nodded. "Permission granted."

Zelenka was on his feet immediately, not waiting for Sheppard to follow as he rushed out of the door. John rose quickly, and with an apologetic wave to Elizabeth he was out in the corridor, chasing after the scientist. He was aware of voices behind him, of Heightmeyer once again raising her concerns but he shut the sounds out, running after the Czech as he scurried along the corridor.

"Woah, hold up! Mind telling me what this theory of yours is?"

Zelenka was striding down the corridor at speed, heedless of the strange looks he was getting from passersby. His hand gesticulated as he talked, and he frequently lapsed into Czech, words overlapping each other. "The place on the planet, it looked like a laboratory, correct?"

"Long abandoned," Sheppard objected.

"As was this city, Major. Time means nothing."

"But it was ruined. McKay said it would be a wasted effort trying to power up the computer. If we'd gone any further the ceiling might have collapsed."

"But he saw this device," Zelenka said, turning a corner so quickly he almost walked into a wall. "The only one not damaged."

"You think this was a deliberate trap?" Sheppard guessed, mouth dry.

Two fingers snapped irritably. "No, an accident. But it seems odd, no, that Rodney starts behaving so strangely after his contact with this device. He talks of himself as though – just as you said, Major, as though McKay is not himself. As though he is _someone else._ And this device, used for data storage," he dissolved into more mutters, picking up his pace and not slowing even when they reached the entrance to McKay's lab.

The doors opened just in time to stop the Czech from walking into them. He strode over to McKay's laptop, where it sat on a bench, the spinning logo of Atlantis displayed on its screen. Zelenka swiped at the mouse and the screensaver disappeared, replaced by a log-in box. The scientist's hands flew over the keyboard and a second later the box was replaced by the familiar Stargate OS.

Sheppard whistled appreciatively. "You know McKay's passwords?"

"Mm," came back the non-committal response, Zelenka concentrating on his search of McKay's hard drive.

"I think I've underestimated you."

"Quite probably. Ah!" He uttered a short, satisfied exclamation, having apparently found what he was looking for. Pushing himself away from the desk he trotted across to a door adjoining the lab. "Our storage room," he said, by way of an explanation, punching a short code into the lock beside the door. It opened obediently, and Sheppard followed the Czech in.

They were surrounded by the Atlantean version of filing cabinets, alien but no more interesting. Tall, featureless white cabinets with a number of drawers and shelves. About a third of the surfaces contained some kind of object – McKay's personal shield, a life-signs detector, even a Wraith stunner stood leaning against a wall, though it was damaged beyond repair. Each bore a neat little label in a handwriting other than McKay's, and tied on with string.

Zelenka was muttering beneath his breath as he scanned row after row of objects. Uttering a small, triumphant noise his hand closed on a drawer, two down and three across, pulling it open.

His expression immediately dropped away into one of shock, and Sheppard heard him curse. "Of course. I should have guessed."

"What?" he asked, moving to stand beside the Czech. "Is it missing?"

"No," Zelenka said, bitterly. "It is there. Every piece of it."

Sheppard, with a growing sense of dread, leant over the drawer to peer inside. On a rectangular metal tray sat the device – or rather, the parts of it. Metal squares, wires, unidentifiable chips of silver. Only then did he remember the jigsaw of technology McKay had been disassembling earlier, and from what Sheppard could tell, the physicist had done a good job of it. There was even a white label tied to one of the pieces.

The room and its contents dropping away, his insides knitting in apprehension of the answer he knew he would receive, Sheppard asked: "Can you fix it?"

Zelenka raised his head, looking miserable. "No, Major. I will never be able to put that back together again. I have no idea of where to even begin."


	19. Smushed

A/N: Thank you to all the people who have reviewed so far, it's really appreciated and lovely of you! Particular thanks to Derry for pointing out a typo, and Sarah, for a great discussion of canon.

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Nineteen - Smushed

Zelenka appeared awkward and uncomfortable under the standard military jacket, looking rather like a kid on his first day of school, dressed in the cast-offs of his older and larger brother. He kept running a finger beneath the collar of his shirt, whilst the other hand seemed to be intent on hovering a good three inches over the butt of his P90.

Ford jostled him gently with one elbow, and the Czech yelped. "Lieutenant!"

"Sorry." The younger man looked genuinely stricken. "You shouldn't be so jumpy, y'know. This is a simple mission."

Zelenka nodded several times, his head bobbing, but his eyes kept darting towards the Stargate. "Yes. Of course. In and out, yes?"

"It's not like you haven't been off-world before," Sheppard pointed out, readjusting the straps of his pack.

"Ah, true, but your team, I –" and Radek drifted, his cheeks flushing. "You have a reputation."

"A reputation?" Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "Care to elaborate on that, Doctor?"

"You attract trouble, like honeypot to bee." The scientist's hands danced in the air. "You say this planet is abandoned, but how can you be sure? They could be hiding. Hibernating. And I have seen your record. Carson, he has an entire drawer for your woes. I do not wish there to be a folder with my own name!"

"And here I was thinking we were a legend for our heroics." He grinned at the unfortunate Czech. "Relax, Radek. We've already been to the planet, we know what to expect – and that's zip all. The detector showed no life signs at all. There were no footsteps in the sand, nothing like that. The planet is next to dead."

Zelenka squinted at him doubtfully through his glasses, muttering softly to himself. "Dinosaurs, perhaps. Or ferocious lions, maybe, hungry for meat. Fresh meat. European meat. I should not be risking myself on this." As he turned towards the 'gate Sheppard saw the Czech's shoulders, bowed slightly, and not due to the weight of his pack.

His grin faded. The sudden bout of paranoia was nothing more than a cover, and a feeble one at that. No better than Sheppard's own front of bravado, but it wasn't the planet he was scared of.

To return empty handed, however…

"Major Sheppard, is your team ready?"

He turned to see Elizabeth stood on the staircase, Beckett beside her. The doctor looked even worse than he had in the briefing. Upon waking in the cell, McKay had apparently burst into a screaming fit that had only ended when an anxious nurse had threatened him with a return to the restraints. His fit of rebellion did not pass, however, and Sheppard heard that Carson himself had been the one to receive a final, desperate lashing. He could just see several dark stains on the Scotsman's shirt, testament to the refused food thrown across the small space.

The weight of his task suddenly bore down upon him and Sheppard turned away, concentrating on the 'gate as it burst into life. The brilliance of the event horizon scored patterns across his retina.

"We are good to go, Atlantis."

He took several steps towards the 'gate, following Teyla and Zelenka, before Elizabeth's voice rang out across the control room.

"John – we'll be waiting."

He stepped through the 'gate.

The planet was as they had left it. Rain had not graced its surface for thousands of years, according to Teyla's guess, and the ground was baked hard and barren of all life. Great cracks ran through the rock, some several metres wide, and within bubbled molten lava, hot grey sludge moving in a listless current. On their first visit to the planet the team had gathered around one such pool, gazing in fascination at the movement of the rock and the glimpses of fiery orange briefly revealed from under the magma's cooler exterior.

Ford had spent several minutes explaining to Teyla what a lava lamp was, and exactly why humans found them so absorbing.

Sheppard now ignored the pools, walking past heedless of their strange beauty. Paid no attention to the great geysers of hot steam released from the earth at irregular intervals, carrying with it the stench of rotten eggs. They passed the pool in which Ford and Teyla had paddled, and the large formation of rock which Aiden had claimed resembled a Wraith hive ship.

"So do you know what you're looking for?" Ford asked, conversationally, walking beside the Czech.

Zelenka moved his head in a non-committal manner. "Yes and no. Rodney, he took recordings of what he found. A camcorder. I watched his film."

"Ford's film," Sheppard said casually, keeping at their tail and allowing Teyla to take the lead. "He's our self-appointed director."

"Ah," and Zelenka turned to nod appreciatively at the younger man, "nice technique."

"Thanks. Always wanted to be the next Scorsese."

"The next what?" Teyla enquired, looking briefly back over her shoulder.

"Martin Scorsese. Very famous film director back on Earth. You remember watching Goodfellas, a couple of weeks ago?"

"Ah." She nodded sagely. "Yes, I remember. And in the recordings of Doctor McKay, did you see something which will help him?"

"Perhaps." The scientist rolled his shoulders under the weight of his pack. "The device Rodney says transferred Kezan into his body was a memory storage device. The tape from this planet showed some kind of laboratory, and what appear to be computer consoles. I hope something there will tell me what the device was originally used for."

"You have a theory," Sheppard guessed.

Zelenka glanced at him, then looked away. "Perhaps. The device, it is like a, ah –" he paused, hands tugging at the straps of his pack. "A floppy disk, a CD-ROM. It contains data only, but not the means for removing it."

"And you hope the lab can tell you more?"

He received an enthusiastic head bob in response. "I hope, yes."

What was left of the laboratory stood against a shallow cliff at the valley edge, about ten minutes walk from the Stargate. Partly built from the rock itself, it was about thirty metres in length and four in height, though the roof sloped upwards into the cliff face to stand ten metres at its highest. It was once an impressive building, but its walls now crumbled, in places nothing more than piles of rubble, and its white colour was bleached the same yellow as the surrounding rock.

Sheppard ducked under the low entrance, still tailing Zelenka. The Czech stood in the centre of the room, his head tilted back, taking in the equipment around him.

"Most impressive. Not Ancient, certainly. Fascinating. I had wondered whether races in the Pegasus galaxy were all of lesser ability but now perhaps, I am not sure."

"Doc," Ford reminded, with little subtlety.

"Sorry." Zelenka trotted across to the nearest console. "These are the computers?"

"I'm guessing." Sheppard walked up to stand behind the Czech.

The room was lined with a number of large, metal boxes, their surfaces covered in dull lights and cracked display screens. The tallest stood at over eight meters high, whilst the smaller, waist-level ones were arranged in rows at the centre of the room. All looked long dead, The banks nearest the far wall were half hidden under a rock fall, their seams open and wires spread like innards across the floor. To their left once stood a row of shelves, now fallen, their contents lying in pieces on the floor. Most were damaged, or buried under rock and rubble, but a few were still recognisable as being the same devices as the one brought back from McKay after their first visit.

"Lieutenant," Zelenka directed, "I will need three or four, please. The least damaged."

Ford nodded, crossing over to retrieve several of the metal balls.

"Careful with them," Sheppard warned, needlessly since Aiden was already opening his pack and pulling out a pair of gloves.

"I believe there is one side to the device which allows energy transference," Zelenka told them. "If you only touch the shiny squares you should be fine."

Ford pulled his face into a frown. "Should be?"

Radek waved at him absently. "Go. They all seem to be broken, I do not believe there is much danger."

"If they are broken," Teyla asked, from her position near the door, "then why do we need them?"

"They may help me in reconstructing the original." Zelenka glanced at the objects Ford was carefully placing in his pack. Said, sorrowfully: "Although I fear they may be too damaged to help."

Ford weighed one of the devices in one hand. Half its casing was missing, and a deep crack ran through the remaining metal.

Sheppard turned away, back to the console. Thick dust layered its surface, but there were fingerprints in the dirt where someone had attempted to clean the metal.

McKay's fingerprints.

He forced his gaze back up to stare at the Czech. "What are we looking for?"

"Something which will help us learn what this place was for."

"And do you have an idea as to where we might find that?"

"I have studied McKay's notes," Zelenka replied, running his hands beneath the edge of the console. "He theorized that these machines are only extra limbs to a central core, protected deeper within the walls." He retrieved one arm to point at a large pile of rubble in the right hand corner of the room. "There the larger cables lead, suggesting a power supply. Destroyed. And there," and the finger swung to point at the opposite corner, and the largest metal box, "is the computer heart." Dropping his arm, he trotted across to the box, stumbling over the larger pieces of rubble which littered the floor.

"You think anything useful has survived this long?" Sheppard asked, following him.

"Ah." Two fingers wagged in his direction. "You see, in the movies, when the bad guys, they want to destroy a computer? They hit it with a bat, yes, or they knock it to the floor. The screen explodes and whumpf!" His hands made an expressive burst. "We are supposed to think that all the information has been wiped out. But in real life it is not that easy. It is hard to destroy a computer's memory. Acid, perhaps, or intense heat. And the Atlantean computers, even worse." He dropped to his knees, scuffling closer to the belly of the largest console. "I believe," as he prised open one of the large, metal panels at its base, "that it is universal rule."

"Woah," Sheppard put a hand out warningly, "be careful. One false move and this whole place could come down."

Zelenka rolled onto his back and wriggled underneath the console, one hand waving at Sheppard. "Yes, yes. You worse than old maid."

"Ri-ight." He placed a hand on the surface of the console and felt it tremble with small vibrations. "Just be careful. Atlantis has already lost one scientist, it can't afford…"

He stopped, the words dying unspoken. Beneath him, the sounds of Zelenka dismantling the console suddenly ceased. A ruffled looking Czech face poked itself from under the machine innards to look at him with a serious expression and an oddly penetrating gaze.

"You have not lost anybody, Major. You will not lose anyone." Then he disappeared back beneath the computer. "Unless, of course, I am smushed to fine paste by this monstrosity. There seems much that is obsolete." And there was a suddenly thump as a large lump of partially melted material dropped from within the machine to the floor.

Sheppard kicked it away with his foot, and felt another tremor run through the console. "Ah, Doc, that's possibly not a great joke to make. Mind hurrying it up?"

Ford looked up from where he was sealing his pack. "Trouble, sir?"

"I think the mountain's ready to come to Muhammad." He glanced at the younger man. "Take Teyla and move to a safe distance, Lieutenant."

Ford nodded, briskly, shouldering his pack and heading to the door. "Don't leave it to the last second, sir," he advised, before ducking beneath the doorway and disappearing outside.

"You hear that?" Sheppard directed his comment at the legs sticking out from under the console. "No playing the hero. If this rock decides to move, then so do we."

"Almost there."

He heard the clatter of metal against metal, and a stifled curse from the Czech. Then a groan, borne of the rock itself. Slab moving against slab, causing the walls and ground to shake and fresh rubble to dislodge itself from the ceiling.

"Zelenka –"

"I hear. One moment –" There was another clatter, Sheppard almost slipping into full blown panic mode when the entire console shifted one inch to the left. The ceiling it supported creaked loudly, and a boulder the size of his head suddenly dropped from above, narrowly missing Sheppard's shoulder.

Then another rattle, and a multitude of groans as suddenly the entire cliff face started to move, taking the lab with it. A crack opened up in the floor between Sheppard's feet, one side dropping several centimetres, enough to shift the console diagonally. He heard a short, alarmed cry, and ignoring the great burst of steam venting from the crack and warming his thighs, Sheppard dropped to his knees and grabbed the Czech by both ankles.

"Time's up, Radek! We're getting out of here!"

Then he pulled hard, dragging the startled scientist out from under the console just as the ground shifted further and the machine's bottom fell from beneath itself. Zelenka's muttering ceased as soon as he saw the mound of rock now lying where his torso had once been.

"Ah."

Sheppard glanced down at him. A shallow cut ran from the Czech's eyebrow to his forehead, blood welling within the wound, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. Two white hands clutched a large, silver square, about the size of a lunch tray.

"That it?"

Radek nodded, his face pale. There was another groan from the rock, and a second boulder danced down from the ceiling. "We should go, yes?"

"Yes." And Sheppard reached down and grabbed the man's hand, hauling him to his feet. As the building shuddered and groaned around them, they ran for the door, small rocks and larger boulders dropping around them. One gave Sheppard's shoulder a glancing blow, another rolled beneath his feet and threatened to trip him up. With one hand in the small of the Czech's back he pushed Zelenka through the doorway and tumbled after him, as the entire back wall of the laboratory shifted several meters downwards and was submerged in an avalanche of rock.

The pair stood, panting, as a cloud of dust rose from the still shifting debris.

Zelenka clutched the computer hard drive with a tight grip. "Let us hope," he said, breathlessly, "that this is all we need." And he shot a glance at Ford, his eyes glimmering behind his glasses. "It would take a long time for you to dig the room out, yes, Lieutenant?"


	20. Deception

A/N: Thanks to Sarah, who inspired this chapter.

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twenty -Deception

There was a knot between his shoulder blades, a kink he couldn't quite reach. Carson cricked his neck and winced at the tiny spasm of pain produced. Blinked heavy lids over dry eyes, struggling to focus on the lines of text that swam across the computer screen.

He had tried sleeping, aware of his own inner angel nagging and scolding, an echo of his mother. Get some sleep, things will look better in the morning. Things always look better in the morning. A lie, one he hadn't believed before school and one he mocked now. His quarters seemed hostile, and when he closed his eyes he was met by a reminder of his own words.

"_You think he could harm McKay?"_

"_No idea."_

Another deception. He had theories, imaginings, worst case scenarios. This was new, uncertain ground and his mind was more than capable of filling the blanks in with nightmares. And it was _McKay_, the most present man he'd ever met. Infuriating, frequently, arrogant, usually, smart mouthed, inevitably, but always _there_, in every sense of the word. And now he was trapped in a space of his own, and Carson couldn't see a way to bring him out.

One hand reached out and clasped the mug of what passed as Athosian coffee. Thick, syrupy consistency and the colour of chocolate. Bitter to the throat, grainy on the tongue and leaving a stinging aftertaste.

"Carson?"

He turned too quickly, the infirmary threatening to slip away from him and he grabbed the bench to wait out the wave of dizziness.

Elizabeth moved quickly, pressing one hand firmly against his back, holding him in place. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

He started to shake his head, then thought better of it when spots danced in front of his eyes. "Just startled, that's all." Scrubbed a hand across his face, his beard scratching and tugging at his skin. "Sit down."

She took the stool beside his, placing a sheaf of papers on the bench top. Sounded as tired as he felt. "You should get some sleep."

"So should you," he returned, pointedly.

She grimaced. "It's been a long week."

"Aye. I haven't felt like this since I was a med student." He yawned, jaw audibly popping. "What I wouldn't give for a can of Red Bull and a Mars Bar."

Elizabeth pulled a face. "Sounds disgusting, and very unhealthy."

"Oh, yes, but the sugar rush was wonderful. Though don't tell Rodney I said so." He straightened with effort, looking over his visitor with care. She was pale, though she hid her exhaustion better than he, hair neatly curled and uniform crisp. The grey in her face and the lines around her eyes contrasted sharply with the clean image. Her neck was still marked by McKay's fingers, now in the complementary colours of mauve and purple. "How's the throat?"

"Much better." He gave her his best doctor look, and she crumpled, admitted: "It still hurts to swallow."

"That should pass in the next couple of days. I can give you some aspirin if it's troubling you."

"No, thank you." She leant a little over the bench top. "How's it coming?"

He released a long, low breath between his teeth. "You'd think given the amount of information recorded by Stargate Command they would provide a decent search programme."

"You would think. I tried a search of file contents for some key words but after the first hour I decided to quit." She pushed the papers across to the elbow. "Still, I think I may have found something of use."

He raised an eyebrow. "I hope so, because I'm coming up blank."

"No success with Lieutenant Ford's suggestion?"

"Sadly, no. The device only acts as a conduit to transfer information, the…" his hand gestured vaguely as he struggled for the right word, "the essence of the two minds using it. There still need to be two brains to act as receivers."

"The Lieutenant will be disappointed." She pointed towards the papers. "Tell me what you think."

Obediently he opened the folder to find several neatly stapled printouts: mission reports, medical results, blood tests, ECG results.

"Two missions," she said, watching him closely. "The first details an encounter SG-1 had with the inventions of Machello."

"He was the alien who swapped minds with Dr Jackson?"

"Yes. He created a device designed to kill a Go'auld symbiote whilst it was within a host's body. Dr Jackson became infected with one, but without a symbiote to attack the invention had some unfortunate side-effects."

He skimmed a report signed by a name he was now familiar with. "Dr Frasier diagnosed him with schizophrenia." His eyebrows lifted, and he looked across at Elizabeth. "Sounds very familiar. But none of the tests I've run so far have produced any sign of a foreign body within McKay."

She nodded, grimly, and tapped the second batch of papers. "Go on to the next."

He picked up the second bundle and started to read as she recounted the details aloud.

"The SGC dialled a wormhole to a planet populated by living energy, similar to an artificial intelligence. After first building a super computer under Cheyenne mountain, one of the entities entered the mind of Samantha Carter."

He continued reading, adrenaline spiking, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. "The Major was completely subjugated by the alien."

"So it seems. Daniel Jackson attempted to negotiate with the alien and when that failed –"

"She was shot with a …" He paused, squinting at the paperwork. "Now that's too many apostrophes for one small word to have."

"A 'zat gun," she abbreviated, helpfully.

"I'm guessing we didn't bring any to Atlantis?"

"No." She sat back in her chair, placing her hands on the bench top and lacing her fingers. "Is it useful?"

He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a tinny voice coming from Elizabeth's hip.

"Dr Weir? Major Sheppard's team are back."

He saw her nod, touching her radio. "I'll be right there." Rising, she glanced at the papers, briefly placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's hope Dr Zelenka has found something useful."

"Aye," he returned, and for the first time in days found himself not having to cover a sense of despondency. Returned his gaze to the mission report in front of him, picked up the sheet, and continued reading.


	21. Pots and Kettles

_A/N: Several people have pointed out that I've not mentioned the episode "Lifeboat," which bears a shocking similarity to much of this plot! Um... I forgot. I really did! And then I thought about mentioning it in the fic, but decided I'd be mentionining it just for canon's sake, and not because it was actually useful towards the plot. So... sorry! I really am. It's a big oversight on my part and I'm kicking myself right now. But look - it's a long chapter! That makes things better, right? ;-)_

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twenty One - Pots and Kettles

Sheppard had bowled through the gate brimming with an energy and optimism he'd been missing, borne not only by the adrenaline rush from his near death experience, but also from the signs of hope glimmering behind the Czech's glasses. Radek seemed unbothered by his own injury, brushing it off as minor when Weir asked, and insisting he return to his lab to investigate the device further. He demanded Carson's presence, with the pointed adjoiner that since he was injured, he could 'kill the two birds with one rock.'

"How long?"

He hummed, and ahhed, then admitted: "I am not sure. Two hours, perhaps three – if the machine is undamaged. Powering it should be simple – relatively - but connecting it to the computers of Atlantis, less so."

It took five. Sheppard used the first three showering and sleeping and then, when Zelenka still hadn't called, the final two talking to McKay.

Talking _to_ him. The person in the cell had resumed his earlier policy of stubborn silence. McKay crouched in the dark beside the cot, knees to his chest, rocking.

Sheppard was trying not to let this bother him, deciding to treat McKay like a coma patient - reasoning that even if his friend couldn't respond there was a good chance he could still hear what was being said to him. He spoke of small talk, jibes of American-Canadian differences, city gossip.

And refused to acknowledge his own inability to stare at the figure in the cage, or to meet his friend's dark glare.

"Kavanagh's got his panties in a twist about what happened to Ashcroft. I feel sorry for Dave. He's become the poster child in Kavanagh's campaign to get to the top of the heap – not that I'd worry about it. Zelenka might look pretty meek but I'm telling you, he's like a terrier when protecting his turf." He drifted, distracted by the cell bars and the slight scuffling sound of hospital scrubs against the hard floor of Atlantis. He had to force himself to continue, with physical effort: "I wouldn't worry. Despite any power trips the doc' isn't likely to take over your post. And nobody much likes Kavanagh. I swear, if the man wasn't –"

"John."

The first time was so quiet he almost missed it. He looked across to see McKay's head lowered, chin tucked to his chest and arms hugging his knees. He was ready to dismiss it as a trick of his imagination, about to launch back into his discussion of the deviousness of certain pony tailed scientists when – again.

A soft whisper and McKay lifted a pale face towards him. "John, please."

He swallowed hard, and took a step towards the bars. "Hey."

"I'm not insane."

He was aware of his hands clenching, and stuffed his fists into his jacket pockets. "Never said you were."

"Then let me out."

"Can't do that, McKay. Not until we've fixed whatever's wrong with you."

The physicist shook his head violently, a rolling motion in his shoulders. "I keep blacking out, and when I wake up – I forget where I am. For a minute – then it all rushes back." Clear blue eyes lifted to stare at him. "If I could go back to the lab, maybe I could –"

"Zelenka's already on it," he said, and hated the soothing tone his voice took, mimicking Heightmeyer. "Just sit tight and –"

"And wait?" McKay scooted backwards, bumping against the cot. "In here? Like a prisoner?"

"That's not what –"

Another interruption. "That's exactly what this is. I'm not stupid. You don't believe me." Then a burst of violent energy, and the double finger snap, the slap of hand against palm that seemed out of place, disjointed. "I told you the truth, John. If I could find a way to prove it to you –"

"To prove what?" he said, casually.

"That I –" and another shake of his head, and then McKay rose awkwardly, nervous energy and jerky limbs, levering himself up and off the bed to take a step across the cell. "I'm sane."

Sheppard forced himself to meet his friend's gaze. Lied: "I know that."

"Then let me out."

And his mouth parted, lips forming around a reassurance that he couldn't give. He forced it down, swallowing the words and turning away from the cell. "I can't do that."

"Please."

"Rodney –"

"Please, John."

He turned back to see McKay stood in the centre of the cell, shivering, a flush in his cheeks and his shoulders hunched. The cell Steve had taunted him from. Full of harsh light and deep shadows.

Shadows resting on one hand, careful fingers tugging and pulling at the skin of the other.

He swallowed, tasting bile. "No."

He heard Kezan's quick intake of breath, and the sound of a single footstep. The man straightened, chin tilting up slightly.

"I did what she asked. And I'm pretending for you. Making like it's all okay. But still, I wake up and here I am." He paused, staring at Sheppard darkly. "It won't ever be like it was."

His breath caught at the back of his throat, and he forced himself to meet Kezan's gaze, returning the stare for a long moment. The only sound was a soft panting. Then he turned, ripping himself away and moving towards the door on autopilot. He had to force his feet to slow, though part of him wanted to break out into a run – and just keep going, head across the city and let the pounding of his muscles cleanse him of this particular nightmare. And he ignored the scream from the cell behind him, alien in its distance.

"You can't keep me shut in here!"

Sheppard managed to reach the safety of the transporter before his restraint broke. So did the unlucky control panel.

"_Major Sheppard, come in please."_

He hit the call button his radio with one hand, and sucked on the knuckles of the other, tasting copper. "Sheppard here."

"_You're wanted in Doctor McKay's lab, sir. Doctor Weir has called a staff meeting."_

He rubbed his bruised hands against his jacket. "Understood. I'll be right there."

Then he took a moment to stand in the safety of the transporter, breathing quickly, and trying not to think about the voice in his head.

"_John –"_

From the look of McKay's lab he was almost the last to arrive, and without an available seat. Shifting some papers from a lab bench he hopped up, an errant Ford joining him several moments later.

Zelenka stood at the head of the room, where he had set up a projector screen. To his left sat the computer drive retrieved from MX-478, amidst a nest of wires and metal, adapters cobbled from a mix of Earth and Ancient equipment. It was emitting a loud, slightly unsteady hum. The Japanese girl he had startled previously hovered over the machine, scanner in one hand, her hands fluttering over the wires as

though they were a form of delicate origami. She kept whispering to Zelenka, who in return waved his own hands and nodded reassuringly.

Sheppard wasn't convinced.

Carson and Elizabeth sat on stools to the right of the projector screen, with Teyla standing beside them. Elizabeth had turned at his entrance, and nodded to him.

"I hope you've had some sleep, Major."

"Some," he breezed. Restrained himself from pointing out the hobo beard Carson was cultivating, or the shadows under Elizabeth's own eyes.

Even Kate's permanent mask of perkiness seemed to be slipping. She stood, awkwardly, at the opposite corner to Elizabeth, and Sheppard was satisfied to notice that she no longer carried her notebook. Then felt guilty, noting the way she glanced nervously, regretfully towards him when she thought he wasn't looking.

"This is when we get to prove her wrong," Ford said, sat beside him.

"It's not about that," Sheppard said, still watching her. "She's only saying what she thinks, and she is supposed to be the expert."

Ford frowned, but nodded. "I guess," he admitted, reluctantly.

"She's only done what she thinks is best for McKay."

Another nod, but Aiden looked unconvinced. Sheppard turned away, back to the hard drive wired up to the Atlantean computer.

"I like her", McKay had said, when a post-breakfast table discussion had turned to the evils of compulsory psychological testing.

"I'm sure she's lovely," Sheppard had agreed, and it would have been hard for him to say anything else. All blonde hair and long legs and perfection.

"You just have that typical military attitude towards everyone in the medical profession."

"I like Carson," he had protested.

"I'll remind you of that the next time you have to go for a medical."

"Pot and kettle, Rodney."

He met Kate's gaze across the lab, and nodded at her. Not quite a smile, but an acknowledgement that was returned, gratefully.

The buzzing sound from the machine was growing louder, prompting a panicked flurry of activity from the Japanese woman. After several directions from Zelenka it dropped back to the moderate hum of before, but the Czech was busy fussing with his glasses, and his companion seemed even more nervous than before.

"Dr Zelenka?" Elizabeth, her tone deliberate. "I take it that contraption of yours is designed to interface Atlantis' systems with that of the alien computer?"

He nodded eagerly, glancing at his assistant. "Yes. Dr Kusanagi has been good enough to help me."

She offered a brief, timid smile before ducking back under the equipment.

A mutter from Beckett, just audible. "Here's one I prepared earlier."

He received several confused looks. Aiden nudged a little closer to Sheppard and whispered: "What?"

He shrugged. "Don't ask me. I was thinking along the lines of 'and now over to my lovely assistant.'"

Ford grinned, then immediately sobered when he realized Weir was looking at them with her best, scolding headmistress expression.

"Is this safe?" Kate asked, eyeing the machine doubtfully.

"Completely," the Czech assured her. Then corrected: "Almost completely. I am a little worried as to how the city's systems will handle the new information, there is some risk of corruption – but my test runs showed no problems."

With this complete lack of assurance he turned away, directing Kusanagi in a soft voice. She nodded and started flipping various switches and crystals on the cobbled together interface. After several seconds the projected image, which until now had been nothing more than a blank blue screen, flickered and flipped to black. After another moment words started to appear, an alien text in white font unfamiliar to Sheppard.

Weir was quicker. "That looks like Ancient."

"But it is not," Teyla said, frowning. "I can understand some words and recognize many characters but together they make little sense."

"It is a dialect." Kusanagi spoke in little more than a whisper, words buried into the floor as she dug her chin into her chest, turning a delicate shade of pink when the rest of the room turned towards her.

"A dialect," Beckett repeated, encouragingly.

She nodded to the floor. "An early off shoot of what became Ancient. Many of the characters are visually similar but bear different meanings."

"Aside from being an excellent programmer, Miko is also an amateur linguist," Zelenka explained, beaming, and placing his hand on the nervous woman's shoulder. "She has been writing a translation program for Ancient to English and has adapted it for this purpose."

"This is a much simpler form," she explained, to Zelenka's shoulder. "Much easier to use, though it is filled with many errors."

"You should be kinder on yourself. It is very impressive system."

"So can it translate this?" Ford asked, gesturing up at the screen.

Zelenka nodded, turning to his laptop. His hands darted about the keys in an echo of McKay's. After several moments the projector screen cleared, and more words appeared in the place of the old. Then an image, a strange symbol above a photo.

"Kezan," Zelenka said, triumphantly.

He looked no older than Ford. An olive complexion surrounded large green eyes above a long nose, a shock of untidy brown hair and finished with a slight point to the chin.

"He's real?" Kate said, startled.

"I knew it," Sheppard said, with a tight grin. "Of course he's real."

"Quite." Zelenka glanced over his shoulder at the image behind him. "Or he was. He died."

"He's dead?" Sheppard repeated, staring at the photo. The picture of a man barely more than a boy.

"Oh yes. I –" Radek broke off, looking towards Kusanagi.

"Nine hundred years ago," she told the light fixture.

"So McKay's being possessed by a ghost?" Ford asked, disbelievingly.

"Not exactly, Lieutenant." Carson gestured at Zelenka's contraption, and the hard drive buried within it. "It seems that thing holds all the medical records of what its owners were doing on the planet."

"Medical records?" Teyla asked.

"Aye. Kezan was a patient of theirs, it seems. They were studying him. Or, ah, well, not exactly him –"

"A copy," Zelenka explained. "They had the ability to take a person's mind and download it, like you would a CD. These were then stored on the, ah, the little balls that Lieutenant Ford so kindly retrieved for me."

"But it looks like they could never get a perfect copy," Beckett continued. "There were flaws in the system, bits missing."

"And not just that." Radek laid a hand on the hard drive. "This also suffers from imperfections. The information has degraded – yes, that is to be expected – but the programming, it is, ah –"

"It has holes," Kusanagi supplied, meekly. "The creator of this system was not familiar with the computer language he used to make it."

Elizabeth was frowning, deeply. "I'm not sure I understand."

There was another flush, as Kusanagi's ears turned scarlet. "It as though you, Dr Weir, were to use a book on computer script to create a programme, without knowing the language on which it is based. You would follow the instructions, but have no deeper understanding. As though you created a poem in Japanese by choosing characters from a dictionary." Long fingers danced in the air as she repeated: "Holes."

"I do not believe this technology was native to whoever used it," Zelenka continued. "It is a mix of all – some Ancient, some I do not recognise. There are many flaws, many errors. It would not surprise me to learn the scientists had abandoned their project due to its failure."

"Or due to the Wraith," Teyla pointed out.

"True."

"But what _was_ their project?" Sheppard asked. "Not that the cultural lesson isn't interesting, but is there anything in there to help McKay?"

"From what we can tell," Carson said, shooting a glance at Sheppard, "the purpose of the laboratory was to study the human brain and all its conditions. Instead of using live subjects, they would create a copy and run it through tests."

"What sort of tests?" Kate asked.

"Simulations," Zelenka answered. "As though the patient was an AI in an artificial reality."

"Amazing," she breathed, oblivious to the dark look Sheppard shot her. "And Kezan was one such patient?"

"So it seems." Beckett squinted at the projector screen. "From what Radek's shown me so far, it seems scans were taken when a patient turned twenty-two. There are a number of files on Kezan's medical history which I'll need to look over with Kate, but from what I can tell he was already exhibiting early symptoms of schizophrenia and manic depression. Then with everything else…" And he paused.

Teyla's voice was soft. "To be trapped for hundreds of years."

Ford glanced from Teyla back to Beckett, then up at the projector screen. "But it's only like a disc, right? Just information!"

"Energy," Kate supplied. "Neurons firing in the right places. And yes, information. Contained in an organic brain or a piece of sophisticated technology, it amounts to the same." She had paled, one hand picking at the cuff of her sleeve. "It's impossible to imagine." She looked up, suddenly. "What happened to the original Kezan?"

"He killed himself," Zelenka said, and there was a curious lack of inflection to his voice. "Two months after the scan."

"And he _knows_."

"Doctor?"

Kate's jaw clenched. "Nothing I can say for definite," she said, tightly. "I will need to look at the files."

"A pretty crappy existence," Sheppard said, slightly impatiently. He might have felt sympathy, or horror at Kezan's existence, but he was still caught up in the shadows of the cell, and the plea from within. "But can we remember that he _invaded_ McKay's head? How do we get him out?"

Zelenka and Carson exchanged an uncomfortable look. The Scot spoke first.

"The device SG-1 retrieved from the inventor Machello was little help." He shot an apologetic look at Ford. "I'm afraid even if the scientists in Area 51 had been able to discover how it worked, I doubt it would apply in this case."

"And we could not build one of our own," Zelenka added.

"But," Carson interrupted, before Sheppard's shoulders could slump, "while we were searching the SGC files Dr Weir found something else that might help us." He pulled a file from behind him, opening at a folded page and reading. "Several years ago a MALP was sent to an alien planet that was the home for a civilisation of non-corporeal beings. One transferred itself into the SGC computer and from there, into the brain of Major Carter. The medical report says that Major Carter's consciousness remained in a small portion of her mind while the entity was able to control her body."

"So how'd they get it out?" Sheppard demanded.

There was another exchange of uncomfortable looks. "We're not sure," Zelenka admitted, "but we believe it may involve electricity."

Weir raised her eyes from the file. "Electricity?"

"Yes." Carson sighed heavily. "The entity refused to leave Major Carter's body until Colonel O'Neill threatened its home world. It then appeared to flee, transferring energy into the SGC computer just before it was shot twice, with a zat gun."

"The Major's consciousness had been uploaded into the SGC mainframe," Zelenka continued, "And the entity was dead."

"Then Doctor Frasier was able to return the Major's consciousness back to her body." Carson hesitated. "She almost died, but it did work."

"Then can we not do the same for Doctor McKay?" Teyla questioned. "The machines of Atlantis are vast, and I assume more than capable of containing his essence."

"Rodney's ego?" Sheppard joked, only for his humour to abruptly die at the look shared by Carson and Zelenka. Soberly: "I'm guessing that's a no?"

"Not exactly," Carson admitted.

Elizabeth leaned forward, her elbows on the table top. "You mentioned electricity?"

"Yes." Another sigh. "Doctor Frasier theorized that the entity deliberately sent Major Carter's mind to the SGC in an attempt to protect its world. It would have continued to exist in Major Carter's brain had the zat gun blasts not killed it."

"Then we do the same for McKay," Sheppard guessed.

"No, Major." Carson looked suddenly haggard, one hand rubbing at the stubble across his chin. "Major Carter's mind only survived the effects of the zat because she had already been expelled willingly by the alien entity. From all we've seen so far, Kezan is not going to leave without a fight, and we can't risk trying the same level of treatment without risking irreversible damage to Rodney."

"However," Zelenka continued, "We believe a smaller dose of energy may disrupt the entity's control long enough for…" He hesitated, picking at the skin on his thumb nervously, "to give Rodney temporary control."

"What are we talking about here?" Weir asked, her voice pinched with concern.

"An electrical pulse sent directly into Rodney's brain."

Sheppard almost leapt up from the bench. "What?" he demanded. "Shock therapy? You've got to be kidding me!"

Beckett wouldn't look at him. "I don't like the term, but yes, that's essentially what this comes down to."

Elizabeth had paled, though her expression was tightly controlled. "How much are we talking?"

"A number of controlled bursts." Beckett raised his head to look at her. "Electroconvulsive therapy is an approved method of treating depression." Glanced at Sheppard. "I'm not about to subject Rodney to any medieval torture technique."

He sighed, shoulders slumping. "Sorry, Doc." Then tried to amend: "I know you're only doing your job. It's just -"

Carson's response was cold, tiredness and concern for his friend creeping into his voice. "I'm doing what I believe is best for Rodney, Major."

"And how long will this effect last?" Teyla asked.

There was another exchange of looks, a flurry of glances Sheppard was growing increasingly tired of. "I'm not sure," Carson admitted.

"Then is it worth it?" he shot back, regretting his volume when he saw Beckett flinch.

"I believe so," Zelenka interrupted, breaking the tension. "The truth is that despite all Rodney's boasts, he is the better man to solve this problem. I still have only basic idea of how to reconstruct the device, or how to put Kezan back within it. If McKay is aware of Kezan's actions then he will have seen its dismantling."

"What if he doesn't?" Ford asked.

"Kezan has displayed awareness of McKay's thoughts," Carson replied. "It's likely that it works both ways."

"But will Kezan not then realise what we are attempting to do?" Teyla asked.

"He didn't seem to remember when McKay gained control after the shock of the forcefield," Kate said, thoughtfully. "It seems that electricity separates their consciousness, allowing one personality to come to the fore over the other."

Elizabeth looked down at the papers before her, then back up at Carson.

"What risks does this carry?"

Another flinch. "It would be painful. Usually the patient is given anaesthetic before the procedure but given the circumstances I'm not sure whether even a muscle relaxant might not interfere with the process." He hesitated, and spoke reluctantly: "There are also a few potential side-effects. Memory loss, epileptic fits, brain damage –"

"Brain damage?" Sheppard was once again struggling to remain in his seat.

"There is a link between ECT and damage to the frontal lobes of the brain." Beckett's voice had steeled, as though he were reciting a medical journal. "Attention disorders, reduced attention span, loss of arithmetic and geometry knowledge, aphasia –"

Teyla looked confused.

"The inability to communicate or understand a language, written or spoken," Carson clarified. "It's common amongst stroke patients although in ECT studies the nature of the aphasia has –"

"Brain damage," Sheppard repeated, dully.

"It's a possibility."

Elizabeth was staring at the folder blankly. Spoke softly. "This isn't an easy decision. Not for any of us." She looked up at Beckett. "I want full details on the method and effects of this treatment."

He nodded, avoiding Sheppard's gaze.

"Doctor Zelenka, I need you and your team to continue examining the device. If there's another way of removing Kezan then I want to find it."

The Czech nodded, but looked doubtful, turning away to examine the hard drive.

"If we decide to go ahead with this, how long would it take you to set it up?"

Carson's shoulders moved in a small shrug. "I have all the equipment needed, but I'll need to prepare a room."

"Then tomorrow morning. We all need some sleep." And Elizabeth gave him a pointed look. "You included, Carson."

He nodded, and yawned, but Sheppard wasn't convinced.

"And until then?" Teyla asked.

He spoke up for Elizabeth, his mouth dry, the floor dropping away. "We keep McKay in the dark. We still can't tell him what we're doing."

"So," and Ford looked from Sheppard to Carson with wide eyes, "we just put him in the infirmary and –"

"It's an accepted form of treatment," Kate said, echoing Carson's words. "We can assure him of that."

"Kezan will fight it," Teyla warned.

"Aye." Carson released a long, heavy sigh. "Almost certainly."

"And McKay won't know what we're really trying to do," Aiden continued, and Sheppard wished the Lieutenant would stop.

"We'll get him back," he said, firmly. "Permanently."

He just wondered what it would cost.


	22. Chilli Sauce

_A/N: Thank you for all the feedback on the last few chapters, it's really appreciated and very nice of you! I realise many people will notice medical inaccuracies with my use of jargon and diagnosis, so please let me know of any major screw-ups! It's the only way I'll learn ... (...that Google is not omniscient... bad Google...)_

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twenty Two - Chilli Sauce

Sheppard sat outside the cell, his back to the wall, butt slowly numbing on the cold floor. McKay lay on the cot, his arm draped across his face, chest rising and falling peacefully, oblivious to being an object of study. If John hadn't known better, he might presume it was just another night, just another mission.

The bars of the cell soon cut that daydream short.

It _had_ been Rodney in the bed. That familiar spark, that same snark. Dripping with prickly sarcasm, even when strapped to a cot and drugged.

He could trust that moment, he could put his faith in it more than he could ever have in Heightmeyer's diagnosis.

"_We keep McKay in the dark…"_

Now there was proof – proof of McKay's sanity, and of Kate's mistake, and yet his hands were just as tied as they had been before. When John had pulled Zelenka out from under the collapsing cliff face, and first seen the alien device clutched in the Czech's arms he had thought things would get easier.

Weren't they supposed to?

He thought of Kezan, and the face staring out from the projector screen, and wondered which of them was dreaming. Or whether either could.

"McKay?"

There was no reply. Sheppard muttered, 'typical,' under his breath and shifted his thighs, trying to stifle the pins and needles creeping down his shins and feet.

He had stopped Elizabeth in the lab, after the others had left. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She had sighed, hands smoothing creases in her uniform carefully. "No, Major, I'm not sure. But it's not a decision I'm about to take lightly."

"You heard what Beckett said –"

She bristled, straightening her back and setting her shoulders. "Yes, I did. I was in the room with you, John. I don't know what you think I'm going to do but it isn't to play rock paper scissors." Then she had turned, ready to leave Sheppard with his anger.

He immediately regretted his words. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry. It's just –"

His touch on her shoulder caused her to turn back. "This is Rodney," she had finished for him, with a sigh. "I know. Aside from his importance and value to the future of Atlantis – he's a friend." Her eyes shone for a second, wetly, then disappeared with a firm blink. "That's why we have to do all we can to help him."

"Zelenka's not going to come up with a plan B," he told her.

"No, probably not." She took a breath, and squared her shoulders. "In which case the decision has been made for me."

"I know. It's just –"

He felt a gentle hand on his arm. "If it were you, what would you want me to do?"

"Rhetorical question," he replied, simply.

"Exactly." And she had smiled, sadly. "Get some sleep, John."

It wasn't that easy. Elizabeth knew it, just as he did, and he knew the decision would haunt her. Despite his attempts at playing Zelenka's 'old maid,' advising Elizabeth to take her own advice, he knew she would spend the night awake and alone at her office desk. Or stood at the balcony, looking out across the waves, as though the ocean could give up the answers.

And he couldn't protest, because here he was, freezing his bones in the basement of Atlantis when he should have been sleeping, wrapped snugly in warm blankets and in a room that smelt of something other than stale dust and death.

But he couldn't bring himself to leave.

A rhetorical question. He recalled the list of side-effects Beckett had reeled off, and rubbing fingers beneath his eyes he felt shadows that echoed the doctor's own.

"Ironic, huh? The one guy who could make sense of all this and you can't even talk to me." Then, softly: "We need you, McKay."

Dropping his head, Sheppard eased one hand up to the back of his neck and massaged the skin, wincing. "If you were sat here, and I was in that cell, I'd want you to do it." Whispered: "Except you're not sat here."

"Major?"

Teyla stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the wall, looking down on him with an expression of concern. "You should be sleeping."

"So should you," he pointed out.

Dropping to the floor, Teyla took up a position beside Sheppard, folding her legs beneath her. She followed his gaze into the cell, and onto its sleeping occupant. "You worry for him."

"Someone's got to." Gave her a smile he didn't feel. "He's the best person to fix the city every time something goes wrong."

"And he is our friend."

He glanced at her, seeing fine lines where there was normally smoothness. "Yeah." He moved slightly towards her, their shoulders bumping gently, and was rewarded with a smile.

"We have been through worse."

"When?" he prompted.

She lifted one hand and started raising her fingers. One,"When the energy cloud escaped into the city," two, "when you were deceived by an alien race into believing you had returned to Earth," three, "when the Genii tried to take Atlantis…"

"Fair point –"

Four: "When Lieutenant Kershaw introduced us to his family chilli recipe…"

"Ouch." He gave an exaggerated wince. "I'd rather forget that one."

"And yet we survived," she said, with a warm smile.

"The chilli sauce? Barely." He sank back against the wall, and flexed his toes within his boots. "You're right. We've been through worse."

"Doctor Heightmeyer initially feared Dr McKay's condition would be permanent. We now have a way to aid him." She turned her head to look at him with deep brown eyes. "There is always hope. That is how my people continue to escape the Wraith, and it is how we will help our friend."

He considered her thoughtfully for a moment, studying her face and the way the dim light cast shadows across her cheeks.

"Hey."

Two heads looked up simultaneously to see Ford, stood awkwardly above them, looking at McKay. "Couldn't sleep," he said, shrugging, dropping down to sit next to Teyla's other side.

"It's going around." Sheppard shifted up a couple of inches to give Aiden room, and waited for Teyla to follow. After several moments more of uncomfortable shuffling the three found suitable positions and sat, watching the cell.

"You think this is going to work?" Ford asked, in a low voice.

"Yup," Sheppard said, with fake bravado. "It's not like McKay to be out of action for long."

"Still…" His face twisted, obviously thinking about Carson's words. "It's pretty risky."

"And we're not the sort to take risks," Sheppard joked. It felt feeble. He glanced at Aiden, and asked him the same question as Elizabeth had posed to him. "What if it was you?"

Ford pursed his lips, then admitted: "I guess I'd want you to do everything you could."

"Right." He nodded, firmly. "Then that's what we do."

Teyla jostled Aiden gently with one elbow. "We have been through worse."

"So she keeps reminding me," Sheppard added, warmly. "Remember the chilli sauce?"

"Ouch." Ford clutched at his stomach and gave an exaggerated groan. "I still have nightmares."

"If we can survive that," Teyla said meaningfully…

"We can survive anything," Sheppard finished.

The three sat in companiable silence for a minute.

Ford broke the silence. "You know, if Doctor McKay wakes up and sees us here, he's going to be seriously wigged out."


	23. Definitely McKay

_A/N: Is anyone else ready to drive a spike through the brain of the guy who invented those ring tones? I swear, if I log on one more time todiscover that frikkin' frog yammering on at me... mutters death threats under her breath Anyway... sorry for the longer wait between updates. This was a hard chapter to write, and if I get some of the medical descriptions wrong then I can only apologise. Here goes..._

_Edited to correct tense errors. Thanks 'Grammar!' _

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twenty Three - Definitely McKay

Driven by his growling stomach, Sheppard left McKay sleeping and headed back to the mess hall with Teyla and Ford in tow. They paused long enough for some sandwiches and coffee, and were sitting in quiet, contemplative silence when a simple call from Weir had declared: "It's time."

They arrived in the infirmary to find the party had started without them. The silhouette of Zelenka could be seen to the left of the room, partially hidden by a thin screen. His shadow seemed busy with a large, intricately shaped object sitting on a trolley. A nurse stood at the left side of the room, over a tray of instruments. Celia Vasquez, a thirty-something Chilean nurse with olive skin, deep brown eyes, and the mistaken belief that her weight required her to cover up in bulky cardigans and neck scarves. She seemed oblivious to the drooling parade rest that any military man would come to upon her approach in the mess hall. Sheppard offered her a smile and a wave which she returned, brightly.

Beckett was emerging, ruffled and bleary eyed, from a cot stowed in the corner of the room. The Scotsman shifted his head from side to side and winced, swiping at his mouth and wiping his hand on his jacket. "I thought I told you to wake me, Celia."

She made a slight, surprised noise, and said simply: "Difference of opinion, Doctor."

Sheppard eyed Carson cautiously, watching the man attempting to rearrange his uniform. "Nice bed head."

Carson scowled at him, one hand reaching up to pat his head self-consciously. "I hardly think you're one to talk, Major."

"Do not insult the hair," Zelenka advised, suddenly appearing from around the screen. "I hear it is violent animal, prone to biting."

Sheppard gave a pointed nod to the Czech's own wispy, receding hairline. "Green is not a good look on you, doc'."

Zelenka sniffed at him and muttered something unintelligible under his breath, then promptly disappeared back behind the curtain.

"How long has he been there?" Carson asked, blinking heavy eyes.

"About twenty minutes," Celia replied, from her bench. "I told him not to disturb you."

"How's McKay?" Sheppard asked, moving to grab the curtain around his friend's bed.

"Awake," Celia responded, stepping from around her desk to reach Carson's side. She twitched the curtain from Sheppard's grasp and pulled it aside, smoothly. "And refusing to speak to us."

Rodney was once again in restraints, his wrists and ankles held by padded cuffs. He was still wearing the red hospital scrubs, and lay on the mattress with no covering sheet. His jaw was clenched shut, his face turned defiantly up towards the ceiling, but his eyes darted about following the movements of Celia and Beckett. They flicked to the array of monitors and machinery plugged in to the left and behind of him, then back.

Carson moved to stand at his side, looking over him. "How are we feeling?"

McKay's mouth twitched, but stayed closed.

"We're not about to do anything to harm you," he continued, as though McKay had responded, "we just need to run a couple of tests, Rodney."

The silence persisted. Sheppard heard Carson give a soft sigh, turning away from the bed to look over the equipment.

"Gentlemen?"

Elizabeth was coming through the doorway, looking no more rested than when Sheppard had last seen her. Kate followed a few footsteps behind, her confident walk failing to hide a nervous expression. Weir stopped beside Celia with a deliberate pause, waiting for Sheppard and Beckett to join her. Ford and Teyla remained by the bed, and Sheppard heard several soft words of comfort coming from the Athosian – to be ignored by the physicist.

Weir spoke in a low voice. "Are we ready to do this?"

"Aye." Beckett glanced over his shoulder towards Zelenka's silhouette. "I wish Radek had found another way."

"There was never going to be one," Sheppard told him, grimly. "Does Kezan know what's going on?"

Carson shook his head. "I don't think so. Radek's pretending he's repairing one of the diagnostic consoles, and we've made sure that Kezan can't see him from the bed. He's demanded food, once or twice – a patient has to fast for about ten hours before treatment, and I suspect Rodney's low blood sugar levels are starting to make themselves known. I've told him he's here for some tests and to search for appropriate medication. So far he hasn't tried fighting the restraints, so I'm hopeful we can start an IV without too much trouble."

"He's probably afraid if he resists we'll have to sedate him," Kate said, softly.

"Aye, quite probably."

"If he does?" Sheppard asked.

"I'm going to administer a muscle relaxant and a low dose of painkillers. That should be enough."

Elizabeth frowned. "And Rodney will be able to wake up afterwards?"

"Yes, without too much trouble." A look of deep seated worry rose up in Carson's eyes, and he glanced towards the bed. "Normally a higher dose would be used but since we need to ensure Rodney regains consciousness quickly…" He stopped, clasping and unclasping his hands.

"Carson, if you think we shouldn't continue –"

"This isn't my area of expertise," he admitted, reluctantly.

"You're the best of any of us," Kate said, softly.

"I'd rather my first experience wasn't like this." He took a deep breath, and turned towards the bed, slipping back into the mode of professional medic. "Better to begin sooner than later. Celia –"

The nurse nodded at them, moving across to the bed. Teyla had taken up a seat but now stood up, stepping aside to allow the woman access to the bed, and indicating for Ford to do the same. Sheppard joined them, hovering several metres from the bed.

Kezan continued to ignore them.

"We're just going to give you a little something to help you relax," Celia told him, picking up a needle.

Sheppard saw McKay stiffen. "I don't need to relax."

"So you're speaking to us?" Beckett said, moving to stand next to Celia. "Then I can tell you that it's nothing to be worried by."

"You don't need to d-drug me," Kezan told them, clearly nervous, his gaze darting between both nurse and doctor. "I'm fine." His head turned to look at Kate, with a plea: "Tell them I'm f-fine. I did like you asked."

"I know." Kate took a step towards the bed, prompting a bristle from Sheppard he couldn't withhold. "And I appreciate that, Rodney. But Dr Beckett really is just trying to help you. We can't find a treatment for you unless we've found the cause of your problem."

He twitched, his hands jerking against the restraints. "You can't help me."

Teyla bowed her head. "This city is full of amazing creations, Dr McKay. I am sure there is something here which can cure your illness."

The blue eyes widened, looking at the Athosian appraisingly. "You think?" Then he shook his head. "N-no. Lies, all of them. You're all in on it. You won't listen to me!"

Carson nodded at Celia, his hands firmly grabbing McKay's arm below the shoulder. Kezan struggled futilely, his efforts unable to prevent able fingers from deftly inserting the needle and fitting an IV line. After several moments his body slumped, fingers unlocking from their tight grip on the bed rails, though his eyes continued to track Carson's movements defiantly.

"Just a simple muscle relaxant," Carson told him, firmly. "Just to help you keep still while we run the tests."

"I don't…" The words were slurred, barely comprehensible. "Don't need any t-tests…"

"Just do like the doc' says," Ford advised. "Take it easy."

Carson looked up from his attendance at the equipment. "Lieutenant, if you and Teyla wouldn't mind waiting outside."

Ford opened his mouth to object, but Teyla was already moving, nodding at the Scotsman. "You require the room."

"Aye, yes, if you wouldn't mind." Carson gestured vaguely at the door, then turned to Sheppard. "Major –"

He shook his head quickly. "I'm stopping." He moved to stand on the opposite side of the bed, resting one hand on the rail defiantly, daring Beckett to move him.

Carson sighed. "I thought as much." He glanced at Ford and Teyla, who were hovering in the doorway. "I'll send someone to tell you what's going on as soon as there's anything to tell."

Ford nodded, reluctantly, but only moved when Teyla took his arm and pulled him outside.

"Right." Beckett turned to Celia. "If you could start prepping the patient."

She nodded, picking up a second needle and inserting it into the IV line. Kezan watched her closely.

"What are you …"

His protest died abruptly, eyes blinking lethargically before falling closed.

"Just a low dose of anaesthetic," Carson told them, at Sheppard's worried look. "It should keep him out of it for a couple of minutes." He turned, placing stickered electrodes above McKay's temples.

"Dr Zelenka, if you're ready," Weir called.

He emerged from behind the curtain pulling a metal trolley, on which sat the parts of the alien storage device. Neatly laid next to them were an array of small tools, screwdrivers and pliers. Radek looked up from them to glance anxiously at the semiconscious McKay.

"He is alright?"

"He will be," Sheppard replied, tightly. His grip on the cold bed rail was staring to make his hand ache. "Let's get this done."

Beckett nodded, turning to the equipment behind him. Various monitors displayed wavering green lines, some Sheppard could identify, others alien to him. He tried not to pay close attention to the particular box Beckett was now controlling, instead turning to the figure in the bed.

Despite Carson's assurances, Sheppard had been busy imagining a variety of nightmares and none were as simple or basic as the one he saw now.

Carson, softly: "On my mark…."

A fine tremor ran through McKay's body, his fingers and toes twitching spasmodically, his eyelids fluttering. On the monitors the green lines danced, bouncing up and down energetically for thirty seconds or so, before slowly dropping back into a regular pattern. He uttered a very soft mumble, then lay still.

There was a long, pregnant pause, which Sheppard broke.

"Is that it?"

Beckett was busy with a penlight, prying McKay's eyes apart with deft fingers and waiting for a response. Absently: "We're not out to get fireworks, Major." He lifted his head to look at the monitors, addressing Celia. "Little change. EEG trace has levelled." Then he glanced at Weir. "We'll have to increase the current a fraction."

She nodded, her expression tightly controlled. "Do whatever you deem necessary, Carson."

He pressed his mouth into a grim line, then bent over the equipment again. Sheppard moved a little closer to the bed, watching McKay lie still.

"On my mark…"

The difference was dramatic. As before, McKay's fingers and toes twitched, but Sheppard could also see the man's muscles pulsing faintly beneath his skin, and he watched them, mesmerised. McKay's eyelids trembled, then suddenly shot open, the scientist drawing in a sudden, strangled gasp, arching his back slightly, his head pressing into the pillow as he issued an abrupt cry of pain before falling back into the mattress. His eyes darted about the room wildly as he gasped, his hands pulling back sharply against the restraints.

"Woah!" Sheppard was over the bed in a second, using both hands to push the scientist's shoulders firmly back against the mattress. "McKay! Calm down!"

"What?" His voice was a wheeze, strangled and broken. "No – I – stop, please, god, I'm not, I'm – don't, please, don't –"

"Hey, it's okay!" Sheppard felt the man buck against his touch. "Carson –"

McKay's eyes turned to fix on his, terror written clearly on his features. "John –"

Sheppard flinched, trying not to remember the cell, and Kezan's earlier deception. "It's okay," he repeated, willing his friend to believe it, and struggling to grasp it himself.

"No, no, it isn't. I'm trapped in here," McKay garbled, his words tumbling over each other in their rush to be heard. "An alien, on the planet – he's in my head – Kezan – I'm not, god, I'm not - don't do this –"

"We know about Kezan," Sheppard interrupted, quickly. "He's an alien from M4P-278. He was trapped in that little silver ball, right?"

McKay caught his gaze, staring up at him with fierce desperation. "You know," he repeated, as though daring Sheppard to now deny it.

"We know, and we're trying to get him out," Elizabeth broke in, stepping up behind Sheppard. "Just relax, Rodney. Let us help."

McKay broke off his intent gaze at Sheppard to look at Elizabeth for several seconds. After several more gasps he took a deep breath, then stilled, dropping back against the mattress. Turned his head to offer Sheppard a weak grin. "About time."

"Yeah, well," he gave a relieved shrug, lifting his hands from McKay's shoulders, "sorry it took us so long."

"_You're_ sorry," McKay retorted, the tension visually evaporating from his body.

"How are you feeling?" Carson asked, penlight once again in his hand. "Headache, nausea…"

He was interrupted. "I'm fine."

A frown creased the Scotsman's forehead. "Rodney –"

McKay winced, admitting reluctantly: "It wasn't pleasant. But I feel fine now." He glared at the deadly penlight. "You can keep that out of my face though."

Sheppard grinned, and allowed himself to relax a little. "Definitely McKay."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Rodney," Elizabeth broke in, "Carson isn't sure how long the effects of this treatment will last, so we need to concentrate on Kezan."

"Right." McKay rolled his shoulders awkwardly, shifting his head to look at the doctor. "What treatment?"

Beckett winced, turning his attention to his task of lifting the bed. "Now, Rodney, don't overreact –"

"What treatment?" came back the irritable repeat.

"I've administered a small electrical current through your –"

"You've _what!_" McKay's eyes widened, his breath quickening. "Oh god, I've turned into Jack Nicholson."

"Not quite," Sheppard said, dryly.

"You try it!"

"Rodney," Beckett said, firmly, settling the scientist into an upright position, "if you don't at least try and be sensible I will have to sedate you."

"Or tape his mouth shut," Zelenka suggested, from behind his trolley.

"Right." McKay nodded to himself. "Fine."

"Safer than running into a forcefield," Sheppard pointed out, adroitly.

"True." He glanced at Carson again. "Isn't it?"

Beckett couldn't hide the concern from his face. "As the Major said, safer than the alternative."

"Oh god." McKay swallowed, his hands clenching and unclenching tightly. "Then I guess we'd better hurry up, huh?"

"We know all about Kezan," Elizabeth began, then hesitated. "You told us last time, remember, Rodney?"

He nodded, irritably. "Right. Right, sorry. I just –" he lifted his gaze, "you believe me now."

She nodded. "Dr Zelenka was able to retrieve some information from the computer on M4P-278 that confirmed his existence."

He turned to look at her, his face unusually open, a mix of fear and relief. "So you do know I'm not insane?"

"No more than normal," Sheppard jibed, gently.

"Hah hah."

"What do you know already?" Weir pressed.

"He's nuts." McKay grimaced. "Big surprise."

"How much are you aware of when Kezan is in control?" Kate asked, taking a step into McKay's line of sight.

He glanced at her, and Sheppard saw something dark flit across the scientist's eyes. "Most things," he responded, tightly. "He's tried shutting me out but I suspect it takes too much of his attention. At first he could barely keep control, but now, I –" He broke off, looking towards Weir. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry –"

"I know," she said gently, "you said last time. You don't have to apologize, Rodney."

He didn't seem convinced, but took a breath anyway and continued. "The only way I was able to jump into the forcefield was because I took him by surprise, and he's been more careful since. I won't get another chance."

"Not that we want to see a repeat performance," Carson said, pointedly.

"Trust me, Carson, I don't want to either." He winced, dramatically. "God knows what damage I did. Though I think you should give me some credit for working with what I had – it's not like there was an alternative." And he looked pointedly at Kate for a second, then turned his head.

She had the grace to flinch. "I'm sorry we came to the wrong conclusion, Rodney."

Sheppard gave him some credit for ignoring her.

"Do you know how Kezan is able to do this?" Zelenka broke in, hopefully.

McKay frowned thoughtfully. "Something to do with electrical charges. I think the shock I got from the ball –" He looked up and across at Zelenka, sudden desperation gripping his features. "Oh, crap, the artefact –"

"Is in pieces," Zelenka said, sombrely.

"I remember. I saw Kezan take it apart." He shook his head. "I told him to stop."

"Do you know how to put it back together?" Sheppard asked.

McKay rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. Too difficult for you, Zelenka?"

Radek shrugged carelessly. "What can I say, Rodney, your genius continues to astound me."

"Ah. Sarcasm for the sick man. Nice bedside manner. You're simply bitter because you can't fix something."

"Can you?" Weir pressed.

"Of course." He stopped, his bravado faltering. "Probably. I remember seeing the pieces as Kezan pulled it apart but –" Cutting off again, McKay closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "It's hard. I can feel him, messing about in the back of my head. He wants to get back." He opened his eyes and looked up at Carson. "How long do I have?"

Beckett shrugged helplessly. "I wish I could tell you, Rodney, but to be honest with you I'm taking this time as a test run. It could only be a few minutes at a time."

"What if you upped the dose?" he suggested.

"I daren't. If I exceed the threshold it will produce convulsions, and I don't want to risk…" Carson paused, taking a breath. "It's too risky. There could be permanent damage."

Sheppard saw McKay flinch, a moment of fear revealed before it was quickly covered up with a pointed: "Oh, and there isn't with this?"

Beckett shook his head. "Of course I can't deny that this carries some risk, but at this level the likelihood is that any side-effects will be temporary. That likelihood decreases the greater the current. With a high-dose, aside from potential brain damage, the pain it would cause you -"

"I can take it," snapped McKay, the man who complained loudly at a stubbed toe.

Sheppard allowed himself a small, inward swell of pride. "Doc?"

"No." Carson's face had resumed its earlier, haggard expression, his voice hard. "I don't like doing it at this level. I'm already treating your system with succinylcholine, and if this were normal circumstances I'd administer a general anaesthetic as well. Without one…" He paused, shaking his head firmly. "No. I won't do it."

McKay was already opening his mouth to object, so Sheppard stepped in, placing his hand firmly on McKay's arm.

"Let's just concentrate on right now, okay?"

The scientist's mouth twitched, and he stared at the covers for a moment. "Right." He looked up at John. "So that's the plan?"

"Yup." He rocked gently on his heels. "You and Zelenka fix the device, we send Kezan back into it, and things get back to normal."

McKay was already shaking his head. "He won't go back."

"We'll make him."

"How?" The physicist's hands twitched, and Sheppard could see fine lines of pain drawn around his eyes and mouth. "You don't get it, Major. He won't go back into that box. He's spent hundreds of years there and he'll do anything not to live through that again."

"We won't leave him like this," Elizabeth said, firmly. "If we can trap him in the device, we can then decide on what to do with him – but our first priority is to help you, Rodney."

"Resident genius," Sheppard reminded him.

"Oh, well, sure." McKay glanced at Elizabeth, then back at Sheppard. "Of course. Simple."

"It is," he responded, in a drawl. "Come on, McKay. We're working to a deadline, remember?"

"I remember," his friend snapped back. "Believe me."

"So first we fix the box," he prompted, choosing to carefully ignore the hand dug deep into the mattress, "and then we work out what to do next."

"Right." The scientist looked unconvinced. "Sure. Not like it's your head, Major." He looked across at Zelenka. "I hope you've had the sense to bring everything here?"

"Of course," Zelenka said smoothly, pushing the trolley and its contents across to the bed. "You will help me, yes?"

"Hand holding," McKay muttered, loud enough for Zelenka to clearly hear every word. "I always knew you needed it."

"You took it apart," Zelenka retorted, mildly. "It is only fair you put it back together."

"Hmpf." He scowled, trying to sit up straighter in the bed and failing when the restraints on his wrist pulled him back.

"Take it easy," Sheppard warned, mildly.

"I could do that better if I wasn't chained to the bed." There was a tremor to his voice, a hitch to his breath.

Elizabeth took a step towards the bed. "I'm sorry, Rodney."

"I know." He sighed, then lifted his chin determinedly. "We'd best start with its central core. Since I can't point, I'll have to describe everything, so pay attention, Zelenka."

Radek gave a sloppy salute. "I am at your beck and call."

McKay rolled his eyes, and Sheppard grinned. "If only you always said that."


	24. Straitjacket

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twenty Four - Straitjacket

For nearly twenty minutes McKay had been in complete control of his body. He directed Zelenka with ease, the two falling into a regular pattern, a mix of banter and brainstorming. Between Rodney's directions and Zelenka's able fingers the device was slowly taking shape, now forming a half shell lying against the trolley top like a strange, metallic egg. Progress on its innards was proving slow, the pieces small and intricately linked. Elizabeth might have taken time to marvel at the technology, had she been watching. Instead she stood, resting one hip against a nearby bed, her arms folded, dividing her attention between Beckett and his patient. Her concern was mirrored by one, and pointedly ignored by the other.

"For crying out loud, Radek – not like that. It'll fall apart the minute a charge is sent through it."

Zelenka muttered under his breath. "Ah, I forget, Rodney, I have never before handled a computer. It is alien instrument to me. I am complete novice, amateur, child -"

"Sarcasm," McKay interrupted. "Not your forte. Now concentrate, I don't want a loose connection to be the thing that leaves me in a straitjacket."

"Ah!" A look of amusement spread across the Czech's face, a look he completely failed to hide by turning an intent gaze to the artefact's innards. "Now that is an idea, yes?"

Zelenka missed the brief look of fear that flitted across McKay's face – but Elizabeth didn't, and neither did Sheppard. The Major took a step closer to the bed, resting his hand loosely on the railing, a few inches from McKay's own wrist.

She took a closer look at the scientist. Fine lines of pain creased his eyes and mouth, and the tightly wound muscles in his shoulders and neck radiated tension. The pause between biting comments had lengthened, the scientist's speech had started to slur, and the colour was leeching from his face. His right hand fought the cuffs to direct Zelenka, his index finger pointing and waving enthusiastically at regular intervals. The other was clenched into a white knuckled fist that dug into the bed, forming a dint in the mattress. Over recent minutes that dint had grown increasingly pronounced.

"Not that I want to interrupt," Beckett said firmly, "but can I take a minute to check on my patient?"

"I'm fine," McKay retorted, without lifting his gaze from the device.

"No, you're not," Carson said, assuming his authoritative doctor's voice. For a gentle man, he could be surprisingly strong when it came to refusing the demands of a certain physicist. "I don't like these fluctuations in your EEG, Rodney."

"Don't panic, Carson. I can handle it."

Elizabeth frowned, her disquiet growing. "Is Kezan fighting back?"

"A little." Irritation tinged McKay's voice. "Like I said, I'll cope." He pointedly looked away from the medic. "Zelenka, I think we need to go back and look at –"

"Rodney," she interrupted, straightening, "we need to be certain Kezan doesn't realise what we're doing."

"In case he panics?" McKay snorted softly. "Because Kezan's normally so level headed."

"McKay –" Sheppard said, warningly.

"I'm _f-fine._ Dammit." He closed his eyes tightly, then opened them when Carson moved towards the bed. "I know we have to be careful, alright? But this isn't anything worse than the first night with him in my head."

Kate, sitting on a stool beside the wall, looked up. "What was that like?"

McKay's distraction prompted an usually candid reply, without the distain he had so far shown to Kate's advances. "Like someone constantly whispering. Feeling claustrophobic. Seeing…" his hand bobbed against the restraints, "shadows." He raised his head defiantly. "I know how close he can come, and this isn't it. Now if you'll all stop distracting me, then I can get back to –"

He cut off with a short gasp, leaning forward in the bed to press his weight onto his arms. Sheppard moved forward to place a hand on the scientist's back.

"McKay –"

"I'm…" Another gasp. "Dammit!" His head suddenly shot up, gaze fixing on Carson. "Zap me again."

Carson blinked, confused. "What?"

"Zap me. Do the, thingy, the Cuckoo's Nest!" His right hand tried to do his patented snap-pop finger movement, but was held back by the restraints. "Hit me with another shock."

Beckett was already shaking his head. "No. It's too dangerous. The treatments have to be staged, Rodney, it's not just like flipping a light switch –"

"I know that," McKay snapped back, his voice tinged with hysteria. "But I'm not finished! I need more time, you can give me –"

"No." Beckett swallowed, then continued determinedly: "Aside from the time needed for another dose of muscle relaxants to take effect, I don't know what that kind of repeated shock could do to your system! I don't know whether it would hold Kezan back – but I do know that there's a good likelihood it could do you permanent damage!"

"Listen to him, Rodney," Elizabeth urged, resting one hand on the mattress by McKay's feet. She shared his panic, and struggled with her own desire to simply say yes. "We can try again in a few hours."

"No, we can't –"

"Do you think he would hurt you?" Kate broke in, alarmed.

McKay glanced at her, looking helpless. "I don't know. I don't think so but, I –" He broke off with another gasp, bending over and touching his chin to his chest.

Beckett moved to his side, placing one hand on the back of McKay's neck, and beckoning Celia with the other. "Just bear with me, Rodney. I'll have to put you out for a little while –"

"No." His head shot up, and Elizabeth found herself the object of a desperately intense gaze. "Please, Elizabeth, don't –" He broke off, words dying unspoken.

Don't make me go back there.

She heard him through the silence. Placing her hand on his bare ankle she felt his fear, his skin cold and clammy to the touch. She caught his gaze and said, forcefully: "We'll get him out, Rodney. We won't leave you trapped."

"No way," Sheppard said, from the side, quietly. "Nobody gets left behind."

He stared into her eyes for a long moment, his breath coming in quick, frantic gulps. Standing beside the bed, Celia administered a new drug into the IV, a sedative that took quick effect. McKay's body started to slump, his head dropping, eyes glazing over. In less than a minute he was unconscious, resting awkwardly against the mattress.

Carson rearranged the physicist's limbs into a more comfortable position, lowering the bed and plumping the pillows. Then he took a step back, watching the monitors closely.

"EEG trace is rising." His voice bore a slight tremor, quickly hidden. "I want to do a PET scan before he wakes up. See if we can't discover why Kezan is always in control."

Elizabeth took a step away from the bed and glanced at Sheppard. John still had his hand on the scientist's shoulder, and his face was pale and drawn. "Major."

He looked up, his composure shaken. "That wasn't fun."

She sighed, deeply. "Not for any of us."

He glanced towards the Czech. "How far did you get?"

Zelenka frowned, laying down a tiny set of pliers on the trolley top. "I am beginning to see how this device functioned, but its inner workings are a thing of art. Alone, my progress will be slow. With Rodney able to remember its dismantling, it will go quicker. Two of these sessions, perhaps."

Elizabeth was aware of Beckett's grimace without needing to look. "Doctor?"

"My position hasn't changed, Doctor Weir. I don't like doing this. With repeated doses the risk of permanent damage only increases."

"So does our ability to help him," Sheppard pointed out.

The Scotsman nodded, his expression grim. "I realise that, Major. I'll continue the treatment, but there has to be a cooling off period between each one. In another twelve hours we can try again."

"And if Kezan realises what we're doing?" she asked. "Do we know what damage, if any, he can inflict on Rodney?"

The doctor spread his hands helplessly. "I wish I could tell you."

"Perhaps we should try talking to him," Kate suggested.

"Negotiate?" Sheppard scoffed.

The blonde glanced at him, pursing her lips. "Kezan is, essentially, a person like you or I, Major. His original body may have died but he still exhibits all the emotions any other person would." She glanced at Weir. "There are two lives at stake here, after all."

"Hardly," Sheppard shot back. "Like you said, Kezan's dead. This thing in McKay is just a computer program."

She tilted her head to one side, eyeing the Major carefully. "Do you truly believe that?"

Elizabeth stepped between the pair, her hands coming to rest on her hips. "Our first priority is to separate the two," she said, firmly. "I'm sorry, Dr Heightmeyer, but any conversation with Kezan puts this plan in jeopardy."

"I am aware of that," Kate began, "But I believe I can minimise the risk."

"Minimise is not the same as eliminate," she replied simply, then softened. "Without complete honesty with him, I'm not sure whether you would learn anything."

The psychologist hesitated, then sighed, admitting: "That's true. But I still don't want us to forget that essentially there is a sick and terrified young man's life at stake."

"_McKay's_ life is at stake," Sheppard shot back, in a low hiss.

"I've not forgotten that," she replied, stiffly. "But things aren't as black and white as you might like to keep them, Major. Kezan is not an enemy, despite it being easy to think of him as one."

Sheppard pressed his mouth into a hard line and turned away, moving back to the bed.

Elizabeth sighed, placing a hand on Kate's arm. "He's concerned for Rodney."

"I know," Kate replied, and smiled sadly. "But he has a tendency to think he's the only one."


	25. Duck Girl

_A/N: Apologies for the long period between updates. Blame the Yahoo Group SGAHC. They made me write a challenge fic! Honest! Gun to my head and everything! Okay... maybe not. But if you're bored, you could read that too. And look - two chapters!_

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twenty Five - Duck Girl

The stick made a whistling noise as it passed cleanly over Teyla's head. It arched a long curve through the sunlight, before coming back on itself to collide with her shoulder, a firm knock pulled back from becoming a full blow. She moved her right foot back to take the weight, balanced on her heel and spun, lifting her left thigh and straightening her leg so her ankle connected with Sheppard's hip. He staggered, dipping his chest forward then bringing himself up, raising his left hand and casting it towards her. Easily blocking the blow, she turned, sweeping her right hand around and knocking him neatly in the stomach. Winded, he tripped backwards and fell to the floor with a thud.

"This," he wheezed, "is where you tell me I've not been practising."

"This is not a fair contest," she told him, offering him a hand up. "Your concern for Doctor McKay is distracting you from this match."

He tugged on her arm as he rose to his feet, free hand massaging his stomach in exaggerated theatrics. "You're concerned too, but I'm the one needing new internal organs."

She eyed his 'wound' sceptically. "Perhaps I was wrong when I told Halling you were a fine warrior."

Sheppard lifted his head and grinned at her. "Really?"

Men, Teyla thought, were always boys when it came to their egos, no matter what their planet of origin. She decided to ignore him. "I find concentrating on my environment leads other thoughts to become clearer."

"Fine warrior, huh?"

She muttered an Athosian curse beneath her breath, turning her back on him, and moving towards her kit bag. "You are different, Major. You fight to avoid thinking. It is evidently not working."

He moved towards his own bag and, she noticed, with pride, carefully wrapped his sticks in folds of a native cloth she had presented him with some weeks previously.

"I have great faith in Doctor McKay," she told him, watching him linger over the cloth. "He will survive this."

He turned, and dropped onto the shelf beside his bag, resting his hands on his knees and looking up at her. "You sound certain."

"Because I am." Shifting her own bag, Teyla took up a seat beside him, resting her back against the wall and taking pleasure from the feel of cold metal against her skin.

"You always sound certain." He craned his neck sideways to look at her. "You make choices and you never seem to question them. You just, know."

"No," she replied, honestly. "But I have hope, and faith. And," she added, tapping his knee with one of her sticks, "I am rarely proved wrong."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"It is a truth amongst my people," she told him, trying to sound grave, and unable to stop herself from smiling.

He returned her smile, then took a deep breath and stood up. "That's good to know." He shouldered his bag, then turned and waited for her to do the same. "So," he continued, conversationally, as they walked towards the doors, "what other traits do your people have that I don't know about?"

She considered him for a long moment, then leant forward and whispered conspiratorially into his ear: "Webbed feet."

He pulled a face, taking a step back to assess her with wide eyes. "No way. I don't believe you."

"Ah," she teased, gently, leaving him stood in the corridor looking slack-mouthed at her, "but how can you prove I am lying?"


	26. Plan B

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twenty Six - Plan B

It took McKay a good minute to wake from his second round of treatment. Sheppard was experiencing a strong sense of deja-vu, reliving the nightmare in glorious technicolor. As before, McKay had arched off the bed, gasping, his features drawn in an expression of pain. The cuffs chinked against the rails, and the bed rattled.

When he finally opened his eyes, it was to stare wide-eyed in confusion at the crowd around his bed. Disorientated and terrified, and, Sheppard realised, feeling a hole open up in his gut, apparently at a complete loss as to what was going on. Only Elizabeth hid her panic with any grace – Sheppard was ready to rip McKay from the bed, and even Carson's professional mask slipped. The Scot gripped McKay's hand tightly, repeating a mantra: 'It's okay. Just relax. You'll remember in a second.'

Eventually the words seemed to penetrate, the frantic gaze in McKay's eyes being replaced by something darker. His muscles uncoiled, and he collapsed onto the bed and panting heavily. Carson released his grip, patting the scientist on the wrist gently before taking up his pen light. McKay immediately screwed his eyes shut.

"Are you obsessed with blinding me, Carson? I'm fine. I know where I am. It's just, ah, for a second there – I didn't."

"I'm afraid that's a common side-effect," Beckett said, apologetically, slipping the penlight into his pocket. "Disorientation, temporary short term memory loss, nausea – "

"Haven't got that," McKay said, optimistically, lifting a finger from the bed.

"Well, that's good."

"My mouth's dry, though." He cracked an eye open and looked about the bed. "I don't suppose –"

"Ice chip?" Sheppard proffered, holding out the beaker. He waited for a moment while Beckett neatly manoeuvred McKay into a sitting position, then spooned one chip into his friend's mouth. McKay flushed a deep red, mumbled a thanks, and closed his eyes again, this time in pleasure.

"That's better." He swallowed, then opened his eyes and looked at Beckett. "This, ah, this short-term memory loss thing –"

"Temporary," Carson assured him quickly. "Although I'm afraid the side-effects will only worsen the more treatments you receive."

"Huh." He wriggled his shoulders against the pillow. "Then I guess we had better get started."

Slowly the device took shape under the Czech's fingers, piece by delicate piece. McKay displayed a clear memory of its dismantling, and despite the artefact's intricacy Zelenka was learning quickly, often leaping two or three steps ahead of McKay and earning himself a sharp tongue lashing for his troubles.

"If you rush you'll break it!"

"You wish me to make speed," Zelenka retorted, "and yet you distract me at every turn."

"If you listened to me in the first place I wouldn't need to," McKay bit back. "Now concentrate."

It might have been easy for Sheppard to relax, to lose himself in the easy bantering between the two scientists, but he was watching McKay carefully. The toll their efforts were taking on the scientist was clear. McKay was pale, a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin, his eyes glassy and a little unfocussed. Every few minutes a fine tremor would run down his arm or leg, his voice would quiver, and Zelenka would wait silently for McKay to regain control before continuing as thought it had never happened. Each time Carson moved towards the bed, muttering under his breath, and each time McKay would shoo him back with a dismissive wave.

He wasn't the only one concerned. Elizabeth took a step towards the bed. "How it is going, gentlemen?"

Zelenka pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one finger. "It is, ah, coming, Doctor Weir. It is a marvel, this device. Beautiful in its intricacy."

"Though frequently redundant," McKay interrupted. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

"As much as I hate to bring this up," Kate said, delicately, "but once the device is fixed, do we have any idea of how to get Kezan back in it?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "It's a fair question. Do we have any idea?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Zelenka coughed, and looked down at the device. "It is something I have been thinking of…"

"And?" Sheppard asked, hopefully.

"He's got nothing," McKay said, irritably, oblivious to Radek's flinch. "Have you checked back in the lab? There might be something –"

"The lab was destroyed," Zelenka said, softly.

The physicist stopped mid-ramble, closing his eyes. When he spoke his voice trembled. "Oh." Then a breath, and he looked up. "Well, plan B then."

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "There's a plan B?"

"I've been working on a theory," McKay volunteered, lifting his chin from his chest. "Been developing it while, ah, you know…"

"Otherwise engaged?" he suggested.

"Yes, well, it's not like there's much else to do."

"So," Carson prompted.

"Electricity." He tugged at the restraints restlessly. "It seems to temporarily sever Kezan's control, right?"

"Which we already knew," Sheppard said slowly.

"Yes, well, I think a big enough jolt –"

"No, no, no," Beckett interrupted, quickly. "I see where you're going with this, Rodney, but you can't be serious –"

"Please," McKay snapped back, "I know exactly what I'm suggesting but it's feasible –"

"- that it could kill you –"

"For God's sake, Carson, I'm not talking about sticking my hand into a naquadah generator –"

"What," Elizabeth interjected firmly, "_are_ we talking about?"

McKay turned his head towards her. "When I'm in control, like now, I'm forcing Kezan to stay down. I can also let him rise to the surface. Now the device from the planet doesn't just hold data, it actively absorbs and releases it as part of the storage process."

"So," Zelenka said slowly, "You hold the device, Carson gives you this, ah, this shock, then you think Kezan will be forced back into his original home."

"Yes," McKay said, triumphantly.

"You think," Sheppard emphasised.

"It's not a complete guess, Major."

"It's a half-baked theory," Carson objected.

"Backed up by what we already know."

"You're asking me to electrocute you!" the Scot protested.

McKay rolled his eyes. "Yes, basically, but if it makes you feel better you can knock me out for it. I don't think consciousness will make much of a difference."

"Oh, well," Beckett retorted, sarcastically, "if we're talking about something so simple. Dammit, Rodney, even by your standards this is insane!"

"It m-makes sense," McKay insisted, then took a breath, gripping the bed rails tightly.

Sheppard took a step towards the bed, alarmed. "You okay?"

The physicist shook his head, gulping. "Oh crap." He lifted his head to look up at Beckett. "Carson, p-please. Think about it. Talk it over, I don't care, just –"

"It's barbaric," the Scot interrupted, softly.

McKay cracked a half-smile, his mouth drooping at one corner. "Always said you practised voodoo."

Elizabeth frowned, worry etched in her features. "Rodney, if there's another way –"

"If you can find another, you're all w-welcome."

"Rodney –"

"Carson," he spoke earnestly: "I'm volunteering. Don't feel bad about it. Believe me, I'd rather this than the alternative."

Carson winced, but nodded, reluctantly. "All right. I'll think about it."

"Thank you." He took another breath and stared fixedly at a spot on the mattress in front of him. "Kezan is, ah, being rather… forceful."

"Celia," Beckett called out, over his shoulder, a note of urgency in his voice.

"Just another minute," McKay insisted, his voice pinched tight with pain.

Sheppard reached out to grip his friend's shoulder firmly. "Take it easy."

"John." Two desperate eyes turned towards him, McKay's breath quick and uneven, his hands clenched white around the bed rails. "If things go wrong –"

"They won't," he insisted, automatically, remembering Teyla's words from before.

"If they do –"

"McKay –"

"Talk to him." McKay closed his eyes tightly, leaning forward in the bed and gasping. "P-please."

He gave up, squeezing the shoulder gently. "Alright. I'll talk to him."

McKay nodded, satisfied, then curled over further, tugging harder against the restraints. Suddenly one of the machines started beeping, a loud, angry noise. Alarmed, Beckett turned to the monitor, then back to the bed, his eyes wide.

"What's going on?" Elizabeth demanded, alarmed.

"I'm not sure. His EEG trace is levelling – Celia, I need you _now_ –"

Sheppard leant over the bed, placing his hand on McKay's back and feeling the man shudder uncontrollably. "It's okay –"

"No," came back a pitiful wheeze, "it really isn't. Zelenka –"

"I will fix this," the Czech promised, faithfully. "You have helped me enough, Rodney."

Beckett moved to the other side of McKay, placing one hand on the man's chest and the other beside Sheppard's own on the physicist's back, supporting his weight. Celia had appeared beside him, operating the IV with quick hands. "We're going to give you the sedative now, Rodney. Just a little –"

With a sudden wrench McKay bolted upright, gasping, his eyes wildly scanning the room in panic. The IV was jerked from Celia's grasp.

"What – no, what -"

"Hold him still!" Beckett ordered, grabbing McKay's arm firmly between both hands. Sheppard took hold of his friend's other arm, then lifted himself up onto the bed to force McKay's chest down into the mattress with his knee. Beneath them Kezan struggled, crying out, broken with fear.

"Don't – please – what – what are you –" Another desperate jerk, blue eyes locking onto Sheppard's with fierce determination. "Don't do this –"


	27. Because He Asked

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twenty Seven - Because He Asked

After the infamous 'giant tick' incident Beckett had established an unofficial waiting area in a room to the side of the infirmary. One door led to the med lab, and another opened out into the corridor. A third wall bore a large window that looked out over the sea, and along the fourth sat a line of stiff backed plastic chairs. It was in one of these Ford now sat, shifting his spine against the hard material, wondering whether the seat's design purpose was to give its occupant back ache. Teyla sat beside him with perfect posture, but one hand lingered on her knee, tracing small outlines against the material of her pants. She gazed outside, whilst Ford found interest in a potted plant a thoughtful person had positioned beside the corridor door.

He was growing to hate that pot plant. Vested it with all the emotion he currently refused to deal with.

"How's it going?"

Peter Grodin poked his head around the door, an apprehensive look on his face.

Sat beside Aiden, Teyla shifted, looking up at the newcomer. "Nurse Vasquez told us the treatment has been successful, up to now."

The Brit nodded, seeming relieved, stepping through the whole way into the room. "Good. How long ago?"

"Twenty minutes," Ford said, glancing towards the infirmary. "We've not heard anything since then."

"Huh. I guess no news is good news. I saw he spent another night in the cells."

Teyla inclined her head slightly. "I am hopeful there will be few more."

"I hope you're right." Grodin hovered hesitantly in the doorway, until Ford eventually took pity on him.

"Why don't you take a seat? We could be here a while."

"Right. Thanks." In several steps Grodin crossed the room to take a seat several chairs down from Teyla. He bent over slightly, resting his clasped hands on his knees. "No idea of how they're going, then?"

"If the doc's managing to help Zelenka fix that doohickey?" Ford shrugged. "I guess." He added, confidently: "McKay's always telling us he's a genius, and sometimes I almost believe him. Between him and Dr Z, they can fix anything. They'll fix this."

Grodin nodded sagely. "Of course."

"I have full confidence in the abilities of Dr McKay and Dr Zelenka," Teyla added, warmly. "They have solved far greater problems."

"Hey, it's not like they have an entire city to shield."

"Or an energy entity to defeat."

"Or a nanovirus to stop."

Grodin offered Ford a smile. "True. Nothing can be that bad."

"No way. The doc's good at pulling rabbits out of hats."

Teyla frowned. "Why would he wish to put a rabbit in a hat?"

Aiden allowed himself a small snort, enough to let Teyla know he wasn't laughing at her. "Back on Earth, there are guys who pretend they can do magic, but it's all tricks, quick hand movements, you know? And the most famous trick is when the magician gets a big black hat, and pulls a rabbit out of it."

"I always liked it when they would saw a woman in half," Peter said, absently.

Teyla looked mildly horrified. "This is entertainment on your world!"

"Not like that," Aiden said, quickly. "It's a joke, everybody knows the woman will be okay. It's part of the act. It's like –"

A sudden commotion from behind the door to the infirmary caused him to stop, the explanation dying in his throat. There was the sound of something electronic beeping a loud alarm. This prompted a flurry of voices, the words indistinct but the panic clear. Ford rose, Teyla and Grodin following him as he moved to the door, ready to burst into the infirmary – and to hell with Carson's warnings.

A nameless nurse appeared from nowhere to block their path. She had one firm hand on the doorframe and her feet were set apart, forming an efficient defence. "You can't come in at present."

"What's wrong?" Ford demanded, trying to look over her shoulder to the room beyond, and failing to see anything more than a neatly pulled curtain. "What's happening?"

"Dr McKay is our friend," Teyla added, worry prompting impatience, "we wish to know what is going on."

"Everything is fine," the nurse responded, urging: "Please stay here. Someone will be out in a second, I promise." Then she was gone, leaving Ford to look back at Teyla and Peter, feeling helpless.

"I'm sure it's fine," Peter said, fervently. He dropped back to sit on a chair, Teyla joining him a moment later.

Ford lingered by the doorway, listening intently to the sounds coming from the other side. He could hear little. The alarm had stopped, but although he could hear the low voices of Beckett and Weir he couldn't distinguish any words.

He paced, a bundle of nervous energy, while Teyla and Grodin waited in anxious silence in their seats. One wall, two. Back again.

"You'd think someone would come talk to us," he broke.

"They have their duties," Teyla pointed out, "and it is better they concentrate on that than speak with us."

"Still…" Aiden hit another wall, and turned. He was tense, and irritable, his mind conjuring up an assortment of hideous images from a few snatched sounds and voices.

When the Major entered Aiden almost leapt on him. Restrained himself at the final second, seeing the man's dazed expression. When Sheppard finally moved it was with silence, taking a seat beside Teyla.

"We heard something happened," Ford said, impatiently. "Is everything okay?"

"No, not really." Sheppard released a long hiss of air through his teeth then sat back, slumping against the wall. "He woke up."

"Kezan?" Teyla guessed, alarmed.

"Yup. Sooner than we thought."

"What happened?" Peter asked

Sheppard lifted his head, clearly only just registering Grodin's presence. "He forced his way back," he told the Brit, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. "Knocked McKay for a loop and woke up screaming about how we were trying to kill him."

"Does he know what is happening?" Teyla asked.

"Hard to tell. Maybe. Carson doped him up pretty quickly but he's got to realise something's wrong."

Ford dropped his shoulders. "So what happens now?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Who knows? He's not going back to the cell. Beckett has him shackled to the bed and sedated, but he won't stay that way forever. Heightmeyer's persuaded Elizabeth to let her talk to him. If nothing else at least she'll be able to find out whether Kezan knows what we're doing."

"And if he does?" Peter questioned.

"I don't know." Sitting up a little straighter in his chair, a strange expression crossed the Major's face, a mix of apprehension and something Ford couldn't quite place. "McKay asked me to talk to him."

Aiden raised his eyebrows. "To Kezan? Why?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Lieutenant."

"Perhaps," Teyla suggested, delicately, "Dr McKay has come to understand Kezan better than any observer could. He may sympathise with him."

"Maybe," Sheppard agreed, although the doubt in his voice reflected Aiden's own.

"Are you going to do what he asked?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" Grodin asked, curious.

Sheppard shrugged. "Because he asked."


	28. The Truth

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twenty Eight - The Truth

Kate thought the infirmary looked broken with the crowd departed. The room was silent, save for the repetitive beeping of a monitor, and the distant, regular hum of Atlantis. A heartbeat, Zelenka had once called it. The description seemed apt. Only one nurse was on duty, sat at his station typing quietly. Beckett had departed to the mess hall for some food and 'a fresh brew.' That left Kate alone with Kezan.

McKay was lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling. According to the nurse he hadn't moved or spoken since he had woken, little over an hour ago. Kate's heels clacked against the tiles as she walked to the bed, and she coughed to alert the infirmary's only patient to her presence.

A suspicious gaze turned on her. "You."

"Me," she said, brightly, pulling up a chair. "How are you feeling?"

He seemed to consider her for a long moment, then turned away. "Y-you tell me."

She folded her hands on her lap. "Well, I imagine the drugs Dr Beckett gave you packed one hell of a punch. Headaches, nausea – stop me if I'm getting close."

No response. He stared stubbornly at the ceiling.

She sighed. "Fair enough. Of course, if I wanted a report on your physical condition I could ask Doctor Beckett – but since I didn't come here to talk about that…"

"You're here to ask questions," he interrupted.

"That's my job. It would help if I could be certain you were going to answer them."

She waited patiently for his response, though it was slow in coming. "I might as well. Nobody else will."

"Talk to you?"

"Nobody will listen." He stared at the ceiling. "You won't, either."

"That's why I'm here. To listen to what you have to say."

He gurgled a strange, twisted laugh. "Right. You only want to hurt me. All of you."

"We're only here to help."

"Liar," he accused. "Hold me down, trap me, cells and bars and rope and boxes. Always the same."

"Because the last time, you tried to hurt yourself," she said, watching him closely for his reaction.

A flicker of something resembling black humour flitted across his face. "No. A blur, that's all."

"You tried to attack Dr Beckett."

"I don't like him," Kezan shot back. "Doctors. Drugs and needles."

"To help you –"

"You did something to me," came back the challenge.

She tensed. "You're imagining things."

"I know. I can feel it. Twitches and tremors and pain in my head." Softly: "I know what you're trying to do. I ripped the memory from him."

Kate couldn't stop a quick intake of breath. "What do you mean?"

Blue eyes flicked up at her. "I took it from him. I can take anything I want to."

She swallowed, a sick feeling in her stomach. "I don't understand."

"Bits of him. Bits of me." He tapped a finger against the bed. "I don't like it. He doesn't – it's not right. And it makes me muddled. It's a jumble. But I had to. I had to know what you were doing. Waking up in that bed – I don't like it. People experimenting on me." His gaze bored into hers with powerful intensity. "You know who I am."

Kate suddenly found it difficult to maintain her composure. She leant forward and watched the man in the bed, the man she had received many a sarcastic retort and walled response from, the man she thought she knew, despite his best attempts at a defence – and saw a stranger look back at her.

For the first time she realised just what Atlantis was at risk of losing, and she wondered why she hadn't seen it before.

"Tell me."

His voice was a whisper. "Identity B-seven-nine-four-one."

"Your name is Kezan."

Kezan snorted, then turned back to staring at the ceiling. "N-no. He's dead. I know. I'm a fake, a c-copy."

Kate's breath caught at the back of her throat. This was what she had been hoping for, why she had first asked Weir to be allowed a conversation with him. She slipped into the mode of professional, distancing herself emotionally from any connection to the man in the bed.

"You're a copy?"

"I was created by his science," Kezan said, sadly. "Code, he said I was. That's right, isn't it?" He took a deep breath, and conversationally addressed the ceiling. "They made me run tests. Mazes. Guinea pigs. But I learnt. Repetition." The tapping against the bed rail grew more frantic. "Bits, a jigsaw, that's what he'd call it. I knew. It felt wrong."

"I know," she said. "I've read your files, Kezan. The scientists put you through artificial scenarios to try and predict how you would react, to identify a trigger."

"Dreams," he whispered. "Faces I recognised. But I didn't know them. Empty shells. At least…" he broke off, closing his eyes tightly.

She gave him a moment to respond, then urged, gently: "At least…"

"The dark." Kezan opened glittering eyes. "Cold and dark and nothing, forever. No dreams, even."

"_But it's only like a disc, right? Just information!"_

"The laboratory was destroyed," she said, softly. "It was abandoned."

"Turned to dust," he replied, his voice quavering. "All of them. I thought so. Nothing should live that long."

"No," Kate admitted, sadly, "probably not."

"But I did." He shivered. "But now it's real. I'm not. A copy."

"I don't believe that's all you are."

He turned his head to look at her. "A puppet."

"No," she repeated, firmly. "I've looked at your history. I've seen the records written by the scientists who created you. You were meant as an exact copy of the donor –"

"Broken."

"Flawed, perhaps, but not broken." She straightened her back, setting her shoulders. "My people have seen many different species since leaving our planet. Some have existed without bodies, and some, like you, have had their minds stored on electronic devices. That doesn't make them any less of a person."

"No." Kezan's hand pulled sharply against the restraints. "No, I'm a fake. A ghost."

"I don't think –"

"He died." She could see tears, and shame in his eyes. "They changed the tests. Suggested new ideas. New people. Drugs and mazes. And I knew, I _f-felt_ _it_." His voice broke on a sob. "There was a hole, and I was alone. I continue and he doesn't and that means I'm a ghost, doesn't it? I'm lost and they forgot, and he's nothing but dust and ashes and still, I'm here, through emptiness and void and now there are new thoughts in my head and I see, and I know –"

He broke off suddenly, looking up at her, and she felt her heart clench at his vulnerability. "They're all dead, aren't they? Everyone I knew."

Kate took a moment to answer, to control her response: "Yes. I'm sorry."

He nodded in apparent acceptance.

"Kezan," she continued, quickly, "you're not a ghost. You're more than that, much more."

"No –"

"You remember your life before, don't you? Before you were put into the box. Before you separated from your other self."

Kezan pressed his lips together, tilting his head away.

"You remember your parents?"

"His parents."

She continued regardless. "Living beside the lake on your home world. Your mother was a nurse. Your father was a teacher, and you were training to follow him."

His mouth opened, though she had to strain to hear his words. "They wouldn't let him. They found out and forbade it."

"Even as a child you were different," she continued, recalling every detail of the file. "You never liked large crowds, you wouldn't play with other children. Your parents tried to help, and when you were older that phase seemed to have passed. But then –"

"I don't remember."

"You were thirteen. Your brother was seven."

"No." His breath quickened, coming in short, sharp gasps. "It wasn't me. No."

"Tell me," she pressed. "Tell me how you got that wound on your hand."

"No –"

"Tell me what happened. You were by the lake and –"

"I d-dared him." He gave a short, strangled sob. "A game. Playing fish. He couldn't, he – I held my breath and he –" He cut off.

"You held your breath," Kate said, softly, hating herself.

"It was a game. But he wouldn't stay under, he wouldn't –"

"He was afraid of the water."

"He needed to learn, I was going to teach him. But I –" Another sob. "I held him. He w-wanted up, but I couldn't. He had to learn. They thought he was so good, but I wanted to show them. I was better. And I - he cut me." His injured hand, wrapped in its bandage, clunked heavily against the cuffs. "I didn't think – he was playing, but not – and my mother screamed –"

"You remember," she cut in, quickly, drawing his attention back towards her. "You remember it happening to you."

"They said it was an accident." He choked on the words, closing his eyes again, tightly. "H-hid it. But they couldn't. W-wasn't their fault. And they took me –" He gasped, then opened his eyes, turning to stare at her. "Drugs and tests. Just like now."

"You remember," she repeated. "You remember how it felt."

"I never meant –"

"He was your brother."

"An accident."

"I know," Kate said, softly. "I believe you."

He gazed at her, his breath slowing. "Yes," he said, finally. "I remember."

"And your parents? You remember them?"

"Y-yes." He sighed. "But there are holes. Empty places I can't fill up. I had thoughts, but they left me." His voice broke again. "I never meant to hurt him."

"I know," she repeated, reaching out to place her hand on the mattress.

"I can't remember…" He clenched his fists and closed his eyes for a moment. "Holes. I don't remember before. There was a voice –"

"There are blanks," she said gently, wanting to pull him back to the present. "That's understandable. But your memory of that moment, your feelings, that means a great deal." She gave him a smile. "Just a copy wouldn't have those. You're more than that. Not a ghost, not a copy. A person."

His eyes widened. "Real?"

"Yes." Kate pressed on quickly, not allowing him chance to object. "You have memories. You have emotions. You're independent from any programming. You're as real as I am, and the lack of a physical body doesn't change that. You're a person, and my job is to help you."

He stared at her disbelievingly. "How?"

She hesitated, not entirely sure herself. "To make your thoughts clearer," she decided on, "to prove to you that we're here to help."

"No." His body tensed. "Lies again. I saw, remember? Took it from him."

"Because we want to have our friend back," Kate said. "But we don't want to harm you. If you would -"

"Leave?" He gave an abrupt, twisted laugh. "Told you. I can't go back to the emptiness. I won't." His brows drew downwards in a frown. "I t-think I could take more. If you tried to make me."

It was her turn to tense, clenching one hand tightly, pressing her nails into her palm. "What do you mean?"

"From him. M-Mckay." He paused for a moment, gaze drifting past her to the wall behind. "I remember parts. Coffee. Hockey. Star Trek. Jeanie –"

"Stop," she interrupted, sharply. "Don't."

"Remembering" he told her. "Like he does with me. But he's afraid. He holds onto it all, he's desperate. But he can have mine. I don't want it. His…" He stopped again.

"Kezan," she said quickly, "Please don't. I told you, we don't want to hurt you."

"You want him back," he said, simply. "I won't go back. Not back there." A shudder wracked his body. "Dark and c-cold and alone, so – no, not again. Forgotten. You won't, I won't let you."

"You never meant to harm your brother," Kate said, growing increasingly desperate, frightened by Kezan's replies. "I believe you when you say it was an accident. You didn't mean to hurt him, but the scientists on your home world labelled you as violent, for a mistake you made as a child. They wouldn't let you follow your father into teaching, despite the medication controlling your illness."

"They left me." His voice broke. "My parents. Took me to the scientists. And they ripped me apart."

"Kezan –"

"See?" he challenged. "You don't know."

"I know what I've read," she replied. "I've seen your file. I don't believe you're a violent person."

He turned his head towards her, his eyes dark and hard. "I'm not him."

Panic flared within her, and she rose, glancing towards the nurses station, confirming the man's presence. Then she turned back to Kezan. "Don't harm McKay. If you can see into his memories and thoughts then you know he's a good man."

"So was I!" he shot back, raising his voice. "But no one listened! You said I was ill, so did they, and they took me apart and trapped me and forced me through dreams, dreams and nightmares and always, always s-shadows coming for me and long darkness, long nights and no one came, they _forgot_ but he's a g-good man, so you want me to do nothing! Just go back, good little guinea pig, but I won't, I won't, I can't –"

"Kezan," she pleaded, hearing footsteps behind her, "don't hurt him –"

"I won't go back!" he screamed, bucking against the bed, tearing against the cuffs on his wrists. "I'd rather –"

"Kezan." A new voice, calm and authoritative. "You decided to join the party, huh?"

Kate turned, taking a step away from the newcomer. Her leg bumped against her chair. "Major."

Sheppard gave her a cursory nod. "Doctor." He moved past her towards the bed, looking down at its occupant, his expression hard. "Have a look into McKay. He won't want to be dissected by you. And unlike the doctor here, I have no problem in killing you the minute you cause permanent harm to my friend."

Kezan stared defiantly back up at him. "You w-wouldn't lose him."

"Not through choice," he agreed. "Never through choice. But if you take that choice away, it becomes a whole different ball game."

Kate watched the two men for a moment, sensing the air prickle with hostility, feeling her heart racing in her chest. She took a step forward. "Major Sheppard –"

He turned on her, jaw set in determination. "Doctor Heightmeyer. I believe your time with your patient has ended. It's my turn." He glanced towards the nurses station, nodding at its occupant. "I want to be alone with him."

The nurse frowned, but nodded, rising from his seat. "I have other work to be doing in the next room. Call me if you need me."

"I won't," Sheppard said, grimly. He turned again to Kate. "You've not left, Doctor."

She opened her mouth, ready to object, but something hauntingly dark in the Major's eyes killed the words in her throat, and she nodded silently, and moved away. As she walked towards the door she heard the scrape of metal against the floor as Sheppard pulled up a chair, and as she stepped out into the corridor she heard his low voice speaking to Kezan.

"So, I came. Talk to me."

Kate stepped out into the corridor, and tried to stop shaking.


	29. Problems of Philosophy

_A/N: You know, I've seen Cube, but about four years ago, and I bought it about a month ago and it's still unwrapped. I had no clue Kezan was a name in the movie. But look, it is!Heh! spooky X-files music_

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Twenty Nine - Problems of Philosophy

It had been overcast and gloomy for several days, the planet's autumnal season reflecting the mood of the station's command crew. Elizabeth placed both hands on the metal rail and leant out from the balcony, pushing her face into the wind. Spray whipped up from the ocean coated her skin and collected in droplets in her hair and across the shoulders of her uniform. She closed her eyes and pushed out further, feeling the cold seep into her fingers, her breath snatched by the gale and tasting salt on her tongue.

"Beckett would say you'll catch your death."

She tipped back on her heels, straightening, wiping the water from her face. "John."

"Grodin said you were out here." He stood by the door, looking out at the ocean. "It's not great weather to be out in, Elizabeth."

"I could say the same to you, Major."

He nodded sagely. "True."

Weir sighed, pulling her hands away from the rail and massaging her fingers to return their warmth. She watched Sheppard tilt his head to stare up at the sky, giving him a moment between small talk and the argument she knew would come.

Eventually she decided she could no longer wait. "I can't agree to this."

He dropped his head, rainwater plastering spikes of hair to his forehead. "You have to."

"It's too dangerous."

"I know about the side-effects."

She laced her now warm fingers back around the rail. "It could kill him."

"According to Beckett, that's barely a possibility."

"Barely isn't the same as none, Major. And the list of side-effects…"

"Was as long as my arm, I know."

"Our attempt to get him back could mean losing him completely."

"I know –"

She turned on him. "Do you? We're talking possible brain damage, John. I won't risk that. He's too important to this city, to this mission."

"And…" he prompted.

She pressed her weight against the rail. "And if things go wrong, what that might take from Rodney – it would be worse," she admitted, "because it's him. The treatment could take everything that makes him –"

"Him," he finished. "I know."

"I won't put him through that. We'll find another way."

A strange look crossed his face, a mix of anger and something she couldn't identify. "And meanwhile, we don't know what Kezan could be doing to McKay."

"Beckett has sedated him," she said, controlling her voice carefully. "Both he and Dr Heightmeyer seem to have reached a consensus that whilst unconscious, Kezan will be unable to take direct action to harm Rodney."

"And what about when he wakes up? We can't keep him sedated forever."

"Kate has promised to help him," she replied, aware of her response's weakness. "For the moment he seems to believe that."

"For how long?"

"The answer is still no, Major."

"Elizabeth." Sheppard took a step forward. "Look, McKay's the smartest guy in the city, right?"

She nodded. "Precisely why I'm not about to risk his life on an experiment which has no certain chance of success."

"We take risks all the time –"

"Not like this. Neither Carson nor Radek can provide me with a reasonable hypothesis as to why the device should function in this manner. Even if it does act to draw information into it, we have no way of knowing if McKay or Kezan will be the one to end up trapped in it!"

"Carson said it's likely the host body will automatically reject the unfamiliar information –"

"He also said if that were true, Rodney should be experiencing longer periods of consciousness –"

"If the device traps the wrong one we can do it again –"

"No, Major!" Elizabeth stopped, taking a deep breath, lowering her voice. "According to Dr Kusanagi the device is flawed. It fractures any information placed within it. I can't risk McKay experiencing the same effect as Kezan has."

Sheppard stared at her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Okay, say what you're saying is right. It's a good argument, and I might agree with you if we had no idea of what McKay wanted. But we do, and he put himself through hell just to make sure we know. He wants to take the risk."

She shook her head. "Major –"

"He knows it's dangerous," he persisted. "Heck, he should do, it's McKay. Resident genius and hypochondriac. He can probably calculate the probability of success whilst he's eating his Cheerios – and he _still_ wants to do this."

Elizabeth sighed, reluctant to admit it to herself. "I know."

"He'd rather risk death than be trapped in there like that."

"I know," she repeated, with greater emphasis, McKay's plea echoing in her head. "John, if we had more time, we could try to find another way –"

"There isn't time," he said, insistently. "The longer we do nothing the more panicked Kezan will get, and the greater the risk he'll harm McKay, and we won't be able to do anything to stop him."

She turned away, looking out across the ocean. "I know."

There was a long pause, silent save for the sound of waves crashing against Atlantis. Then footsteps, Sheppard moving to stand beside her. She said nothing, listening to him breathe.

Finally: "It's an impossible decision."

She pushed her weight forward onto the balls of her feet, leaning out across the ocean. "Still, I have to make it."

He inched sideways, close enough for her to feel his warmth. "If it was up to me –"

"You don't need to tell me, John."

"McKay's made his choice."

"I know what he said."

"And if it was you?"

She took a deep breath, feeling water dribble down the back of her neck. "I've asked myself the same question."

"And?"

"And…." Elizabeth tightened her grip on the rail. "It's Rodney."

"He asked us to do this." He dipped his head, looking down to the water beneath them. "It will work."

She turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "You sound as though you already know."

"Teyla taught me a lesson about faith." He shrugged. "If she's confident, then so am I."

And there was that strange look again, and a darkness in his eyes. She didn't buy the confidence but decided not to call him on it, looking away to the horizon.

"Have you spoken to Heightmeyer?"

"She says that there's little we couldn't have predicted. He's terrified, frustrated, angry –"

"Dangerous?"

She dipped her head. "Kate is concerned as to how much damage Kezan may inflict if he loses control. He's ill and he's been trapped, alone, for centuries, knowing his original self died."

"And unable to do anything about it," Sheppard said, his voice unusually quiet.

"It's a terrible existence." She hesitated, lingering over the question. "She said you spoke to him."

"Didn't get much sense out of him," he replied, dismissively. "Mostly babbling."

Elizabeth sighed. "That's a shame. I was hoping to know more." She glanced at him. "There's an issue we haven't yet considered."

"Which is?"

"Kezan's future. Assuming we can get him back into the device, we still have to decide what to do with him. From what Kate said," and she paused, briefly, "by returning him we are essentially condemning him to an existence of torture and pain."

He looked out across the ocean again. "Now would be the moment when I point out he isn't a real person."

"We both know you'd be lying," Elizabeth replied, simply.

He glanced at her. "True."

"I'm not ready to abandon anyone to that life."

"He threatened McKay."

"Because he's terrified."

"So you'd choose to protect him over McKay?"

She felt stung, but refused to back down, returning his gaze evenly. "It doesn't come down to that."

He looked away with, she noted with a twinge of satisfaction, a look of guilt. "Sorry. That was unfair."

"I want Rodney back," she said, softly. "But I don't want to have to sacrifice one life to save another."

"Yeah." He pushed himself away from the rail abruptly. "Look, Elizabeth, I know it's not an easy choice, but we're running out of time. McKay asked us to do this. And we're not killing Kezan. We put him back in the box, and then we can figure out a better way for him to exist."

"I wouldn't know where to begin," she admitted.

"And neither did his creators. But we've got better technology, and we've got McKay and Zelenka."

"And we won't forget."

He folded his arms across his chest. "No."

Elizabeth turned to look at him, folding her hands beneath her arms. Took a breath, and decided, though it did nothing to ease the pain in her gut. "You're right."

He gave her an appraising look. "So –"

"So, we do as he asked. But," and she raised a finger, "I want to speak to Rodney again before we go ahead."

"And put him through more?" he challenged.

"No." She glanced towards the ocean. "But I have to be sure, John. If there's any chance that we're wrong, that there's another option we haven't seen –"

"You think there is?" he asked, deliberately.

She met his gaze evenly. "You said it was an impossible decision. I want to be certain this is the only option before we go ahead."

He looked away, scuffing his boots against the floor. "Alright," he agreed. "Then we ask him."

"Thank you."

He smiled grimly. "Don't."

It was her turn to look away, wrapping her arms around her chest and shivering in the wind. His hand touched her shoulder gently.

"Sorry. Look - we should go in. It's freezing out here."

She nodded, and blinked rainwater from her eyes. Lifted her head and looked up at him. "You're certain."

"As I've ever been."

She gave him a smile. "I hope you're right."


	30. The Only Choice

_A/N: A shipper found ship in my fic! That's a first. I don't do ship, because it simply doesn't interest me. But if people find shippyness in this then hey, let me know! Maybe I'm missing out! (also... Porthos... just scroll to the end of this chapter. I was writing this and thinking: "I don't mean for this to be ship. But she's going to LOVE this bit.)_

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Thirty - The Only Choice

Beckett gave a smile he quite clearly didn't believe, and said with false brightness: "Third time's the charm, eh?"

The joke was ill-received, sinking deep into an atmosphere crackling with tension. Stood about the bed was a familiar crowd: Sheppard hovering at its head, shifting from foot to foot with nervous energy; Elizabeth positioned at McKay's feet, her fingers curled into her palm; Heightmeyer sitting on a stool beside the wall, wearing an expression of professional calm. Zelenka stood in a protective hunch over the finished alien device.

Beckett eyed it cautiously. "Is it done, then?"

The Czech nodded, though there was doubt in his expression, his face haggard and tired. "Yes. I believe so."

"You believe so?"

"There were," he tilted his head from side to side, "several spare parts. But not important, I think."

"You think?" Sheppard asked.

Radek shot a bloodshot gaze at him. "Redundant pieces. The device will work."

"Right." The Major held his hands up in protest. "I have complete faith in you." He received a weak, thankful smile for his trouble.

Beckett took a breath. "Then we should begin." He turned to the monitors, checking them for a fourth time despite having ordered Celia to do the same less than ten minutes previously.

Elizabeth looked down at the unconscious McKay, slumped loosely in the bed. She reached out and brushed his arm briefly with her fingers. "Is there anything we can do?"

Beckett shook his head. "I'm afraid not. But it will help to have familiar faces around him. There may be a period of confusion when he initially comes to."

Sheppard glanced at her pointedly and she inwardly flinched, repeating her words from the briefing before.

"I know what this costs, Major, but I need confirmation."

"He may have had a change of heart," Kate said, quietly. "He may only have spoken out of panic."

"You don't really believe –"

"Or he may have thought of another way," Elizabeth continued regardless, watching Sheppard glower.

He looked across at Zelenka. "Is there another?"

The Czech flushed. "Not that I can see, but –"

"Then we go ahead."

Elizabeth took a step towards John, lifting her eyes to meet his. "We've spoken already, Major, and you agreed to this."

He grimaced. "I know."

"It's a mild dose," Beckett interrupted. "Not as strong as the last two. It should give Rodney a couple of minutes of control at the most."

"I want to ask him," she told Sheppard, meeting his gaze. "I consider it only fair."

His expression didn't soften but he did turn away, returning his attention to the bed.

Elizabeth watched Carson place stickered electrodes on McKay's forehead, double checking the IV line of sedative and the monitors stood behind him. The Scot seemed nervous, frown lines creasing his forehead, though his fingers moved with clinical efficiency, rearranging the sheets and testing the strength of the cuffs.

"If he resists," he said simply, to her unspoken question.

Celia stood beside a tray of equipment, syringes and needles and items Elizabeth couldn't identify. The appearance of a crash cart in the corner of the room had not gone unnoticed, and she felt a prickle of fear at the base of her spine.

An impossible decision, Sheppard had said. His words had changed her mind only for her to realise that, all along, there had been no real decision at all.

"_McKay asked._"

She watched Carson move to the machine she knew controlled the amount of power travelling down to the electrodes. Confirmation, she told herself. To hear the request from McKay's mouth one more time, to be assured that he had no other plan, no remote theory.

To feel a fraction of the pressure lifted from her own shoulders, and to feel more certain of the path she had already chosen.

"After three. One, two –"

McKay trembled, a wave of motion running from his shoulders downwards. His fingers quivered as though according to some strange, unconscious bidding of their own, then curled round into fists. His eyelids flickered, his mouth opened, and he gasped, his head knocking against the pillow, his body fighting the restraints. He was saying something, the words an incomprehensible slur, his breath coming in quick, short gulps.

Sheppard moved towards the bed but a hand from Carson stopped him from reaching down to its occupant.

"Give him a moment," Beckett ordered, urgently. He looked down to McKay. "It's alright, Rodney. You'll remember where you are in a second. Just a little confusion, nothing to be worried about, it will pass soon, just lie still –"

"No!" came a gargled rasp, the word desperately clawing its way from McKay's throat. He rolled his head back against the pillows then lifted it, staring at Sheppard. "You – I –" another gasp, "You said –"

"McKay," John responded, his words strangely stilted, "I'm here. Relax. We just want to talk to you."

"Do you remember what's happening?" Elizabeth asked, cautiously, her stomach in knots.

He tore his gaze away from Sheppard with obvious effort, looking at her with a terrible darkness in his eyes. "Y-yes. Kezan. You –"

"We're trying to remove him," she supplied quickly. "Doctor Zelenka has fixed the device. You remember that?"

He stared at her for several seconds and then nodded, his breath still stuttered.

"You said a burst of electricity should split you and Kezan, forcing him back into the device. You remember me asking?"

He gasped, and nodded. "Yes. I remember."

"I need to know," she said urgently, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his, "whether you're certain."

"I remember," he repeated, his hand squeezing hers weakly. His chin lifted and he stared at her, looking deep into her eyes. "Elizabeth –"

"I want to be sure," she told him.

He blinked over unshed tears. "Do it. Please."

"You're aware of the risks –"

"It will work," he told her, the grip on her fingers tightening. "It will work."

"Kezan hasn't tried –"

"No," he shook his head, "he hasn't tried anything. But he – he's scared. Desperate. Elizabeth, do it. Please. Now. P-please –" He cut off with another gasp.

Beckett glanced at the monitors. "Careful," he said, "EEG trace rising,"

McKay had closed his eyes tightly, gulping air, holding onto Elizabeth's hand with such strength it hurt her bones. She ignored the pain, placing her other hand over his firmly.

"_McKay asked._"

"Alright," she said, softly. "If you're sure."

His eyes shot open, locking onto hers with ferocity. "I –" gasp, "would rather die –" gasp, "than stay like this."

Her breath caught in the back of her throat and she nodded, feeling heat behind her eyes. "We won't let that happen."

He nodded, apparently satisfied, and then closed his eyes. His body began to relax, his grip unlocking from around Elizabeth's hands. She pulled away from the bed and watched him slump against the mattress.

Celia fiddled once more with the IV and then nodded at Carson. "He's under."

The Scot nodded. "A light dose," he told the crowd. Reaching down to the bed he started to rearrange McKay, checking the stickers and wiping sweat from his friend's brow with a cloth.

Sheppard had moved to stand beside Elizabeth. She could feel his light touch on her arm, beneath her elbow. "You've decided."

She felt her insides shiver, her gaze fixed on the slumped form of her friend. "Yes. You were right."

"Despite the risks," Kate said, from her corner.

"Did he seem in his right mind?" Elizabeth asked, looking over at the blonde. "Did Rodney know what he was asking?"

The woman nodded, as Elizabeth knew she would. "Yes."

"We do not wait?" Zelenka asked.

Sheppard shook his head. "We don't know what Kezan could do in the meantime."

"I don't like this," Beckett said, the fear plain on his face. "It's too dangerous."

"You've made your concerns clear," she told him.

"If it goes wrong –"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"If this doesn't work…" The Scot laid his hand flat against the surface of the table. "There won't be a second chance. To do it once carries serious risks, but to do it again will kill him."

"And by leaving Kezan in there we risk the same thing."

"We don't know that –"

"Carson," Sheppard interrupted. "We made one mistake when we labelled him insane. Let's not make another."

Elizabeth was grateful for the 'we', but she still saw the look of shame wash across the physician's face, his arms crossing over his chest defensively. She felt pained for him, and offered in support:

"You did what you thought was best, Carson. Now, so am I."

He gave a heavy sigh. "Aye. I suppose so." He turned to Zelenka. "Are you ready for this?"

Radek nodded, picking up a thick pair of latex gloves from his trolley and pulling them onto his hands. "Yes. You will prepare him?"

Beckett nodded, beckoning Celia to his side. Together the pair increased the height of the bed head and lifted McKay into a half seated position, pulling back the sheets and untangling the wires spilling from his skin. Then Celia picked up a metal contraption from the table beside the bed. A square frame looped onto a bed rail, lifting up and over into an angular arch several inches above McKay's thighs. Elizabeth stared at it for a moment before realising what it was – a tray stand, normally used for holding meals for patients, with its top missing. With the frame in place, Beckett carefully unbuckled the restraints from the bedrails and lifted McKay's wrists up and onto the frame, locking his hands in place. The scientist never moved, his body limp in Carson's hold.

It seemed odd. A man consumed by genius, reading theorems in his sleep, driven by boundless excitement for the universe now so utterly still. Deathlike, she thought, and shivered.

"Doctor Weir, if you please."

She started, gathering her thoughts before stepping back, allowing Zelenka access to the bed. Radek's pale face bore a look of intense concentration, his gloved hands lifting the ball from the trolley and carrying it slowly across to the bed.

"Gloves?" Sheppard asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A precaution, only." Zelenka lifted his eyes above his glasses. "Carson?"

Beckett carefully prised apart McKay's fingers, the physicist's hands supported entirely by the metal frame and the restraints into an upwards position. Inch by inch Zelenka lowered the silver ball into McKay's open palms, until its weight was born by the fingers below. Then he released his own grip and stood back, exhaling a small breath.

"There. It will hold for the moment."

Beckett examined the restraints again, then nodded. "It'll do." He took a step back from the bed and sighed, deeply. "I want it to be noted," he said, looking up at Weir, "that I'm not happy with this."

"You've made it clear."

He nodded, and gave another sigh. "For Rodney's sake, I hope we're right. Ready?" and even the mask of physician couldn't hide the look of guilt and grief mixed there.

Elizabeth curled her toes into the floor and pressed her hand against her hip hard to stop it from shaking. She looked across at John and saw his pale face close over, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Carson rested his finger on a small switch. Elizabeth held her breath.

There was a very slight pause.

A tremor ran through McKay's body, from his shoulders to his fingertips and toes, while his head lay heavily against the pillow. Then a second tremor, and a third, fine movements pulsating his muscles and the lines around his eyes. Elizabeth's eyes were drawn to the EEG machine, and the wave of green against the black. Carson shifted restlessly, torn between the figure in the bed and the machines he controlled.

The green suddenly spiked, alarms wailing loudly. McKay's body arced violently, bucking against the sheets. Sheppard moved to hold him down but a sharp yell from Carson held him in his place.

"No – don't touch him, Major, just wait it out –"

McKay's wrists tugged sharply against the restraints, muscles in his forearms quivering. There was a sharp crackle and as Elizabeth looked down she saw fine blue light forking between the scientist's hands and the surface of the silver ball.

"Doctor Beckett!"

Celia was pointing at the ECG machine. McKay's heart rate had increased dramatically, stuttering against the black.

Carson's fingers moved back towards the switch, but a cry from Zelenka stopped him.

"No, wait! Not to interrupt the process halfway!"

"If we wait any longer –" Carson protested.

"We wait," Sheppard urged.

Elizabeth pulled her gaze from Carson to McKay, writhing in the bed, his facial features pulled tight in pain, his eyes moving frantically beneath thin lids.

"Carson –"

"I'm stopping this now!"

Before Carson's hand could reach the switch the blue lightening suddenly died away. The device slipped from McKay's fingers, rolling onto the bed, scooped up by Zelenka before it could fall to the floor. Immediately McKay slumped, collapsing onto the mattress, his lips tinged with blue and his skin grey and translucent.

_I made the wrong choice_, Elizabeth heard herself, wanting to cry out. _I've killed him. Oh god, don't let me have –_

Beckett had his hand splayed across McKay's, then moved it upwards towards his mouth, pressing his fingers against the scientist's lips. Behind him the alarms continued to wail, but Elizabeth ignored them, her attention fixed on McKay's face.

She couldn't think through the tightness in her chest.

Carson's shoulders dropped, and he released a long whistle of air.

"He's breathing, just." He clicked his fingers at Celia, who wheeled across an oxygen cart. A plastic mouthpiece was quickly placed over McKay's face, Beckett gently lifting his friend's head from the pillow to slip the elastic around his head. "I'll want to see results from his EEG and ECG," he said, absently.

Celia nodded, her fingers carefully removing the electrodes from McKay's forehead. Taking a key from his pocket, Carson unlatched the cuffs and pushed the tray away from the bed.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked, her voice rough.

"He was tachycardic." The cuffs were firmly attached back to the rails, Carson gently loosening McKay's fingers from the fists they had formed.

"Serious?"

"He has a normal rhythm now. Any longer…." He stopped.

"Is there any way of knowing whether it's worked?" Heightmeyer asked.

Carson looked up at her. "I wish there was. It's a matter of wait and see."

"If it hasn't…" Kate prompted.

"I don't know." The physician scrubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders slumping. "I just don't."

"There will be alternatives," Zelenka said, softly.

"There doesn't need to be. This will have worked." Sheppard placed a hand on McKay's pillow. "We just wait 'til he wakes up, that's all."

Elizabeth continued to watch the man in the bed, noting that the lines of pain were now smooth, that his muscles, so recently bound in pain, were relaxed and loose against the pillow. He was still as white as the sheets beneath him, his chest barely rising, the steaming of breath against the mask the only sign of comfort.

"Side-effects?" she asked, quietly.

"The same." The Scot looked towards the monitors. "I'll know more after we've done some tests."

She moved towards the bed, resting her hand on McKay's wrist gently. He felt cold to her touch. "How long?"

"Hard to tell. He could wake up after a couple of hours. It could be ten." He shrugged helplessly. "This is beyond my area of expertise, Elizabeth."

"But," Sheppard prompted.

"But." He stopped, his hand lingering on the bed rail. "Longer than twelve, and it will be a cause for concern."

There was a long silence, which Zelenka broke.

"A time limit is good, yes? Gives focus."

Elizabeth turned towards him. "The device?"

"I will take it to the lab. It is possible that I can interface it with the drive we retrieved from the planet."

"I thought it was damaged?" Sheppard asked.

"Yes. As I say, a possibility." He bobbed his head several times, then looked towards the bed. "He will survive this," he declared, with a strange confidence, then with a jerk of his arms pushed the trolley towards the infirmary exit.

"He will," Sheppard repeated, quietly.

Elizabeth dropped her head, closing her eyes for a moment.

"I should go to the waiting room," Celia said quietly, to Carson. "I imagine Dr McKay's team mates will be anxious to hear any news."

Beckett nodded. He again had a cloth in one hand, wiping slick sweat from his friend's face and neck.

In her corner Heightmeyer shifted awkwardly, looking towards Sheppard and Weir. "We should use this time to get some rest," she said, pointedly.

Sheppard ignored her, pulling up a chair and dropping his weight into it. Elizabeth glanced at her and offered her a cursory nod.

"Thank you, Kate. We'll contact you when he's awake."

The psychologist hesitated and then nodded reluctantly, turning towards the exit. Elizabeth looked away, trailing her hands across the mattress.

She was still shaking.

"Here." Sheppard rose, patting the chair. "I'll get another."

She looked up at him. "Thank you."

He shrugged, moving aside to let her sit down. Her legs folded weakly beneath her and she crumpled into it, hugging her chest with her arms and lowering her chin.

She felt his hand on her shoulder. "He'll be okay."

Her head lifted and for a moment Elizabeth was content to discard the mask she wore as leader, too exhausted to continue the façade. "You sound like Teyla."

His hand squeezed gently. "She's rubbing off on me." Then the touch was gone, and he turned away. "I'll get a chair. It could be a long night."

"I know." She leaned forward and rested her hand on the mattress, the back of her hand graced by McKay's fingertips as they dangled over the bedrail.

"Elizabeth? Whatever happens, when he wakes up – you made the right choice."

She closed her eyes, and didn't reply.


	31. Tacking Into The Wind

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Thirty One - Tacking Into The Wind

Empty. Bereft.

Someone has ripped a piece from him. He searches for it in the dark places, in the shadows, without knowing its form.

He can't label it, though he wants to, because everything has labels, and names. That's how things should be. This did too, but he can't think of it. It has been taken, just like the thing itself.

Finding nothing but his own reflection he turns upwards, other sensations pulling him from the search. Like a pain in his head, and voices in his ear, and twitches and aches through his body.

In his body. He tastes the words for their strangeness, and feels a ripple of fear.

It hasn't been his for the longest of times.

It's unfamiliar. He concentrates on remembering the past, and looks at the mirror, and tries to imagine what it felt like to move his fingers.

At first there is nothing. He sees a puppet on a stage and stares at its hands and concentrates, struggling to grasp at the concept. It is slippery, and falls through the gaps, and there's no change. The puppet doesn't move. Then he changes tactic, and stares at the strings, and follows them up, up, up into the dark of the theatre and its like tacking into the wind, slow and so much of a struggle and –

There. Now he remembers.

His fingers twitch.

He collapses back into the darkness and waits. Nothing happens.

Now he panics, his chest painfully tight. Then he thinks, he might be imagining his chest tightening, since there may be no chest at all, and nothing to tighten. But the pain feels real, he tells himself, and some of the possibly imaginary tightness fades.

Then he thinks, but if my fingers twitch, isn't something supposed to happen? And then he's panicking again, because this has the feel of familiarity to it, and he's terrified, because he doesn't want to go back to that place.

He can't.

Nobody saw him, he thinks, and if nobody saw him then maybe he was imagining it, and it's gone wrong, and the thing he's forgotten has left him and so has something else and now – what if this is it? What if he's broken?

And he sees the puppet with its strings cut, lying in a slumped heap on the floor of the stage with its blue eyes staring at him and suddenly the panic is real, the pain is real, he can feel his chest and his fingers and they're not imaginary, and he's fighting the darkness and the shadows because dear god, someone has to see him, someone has to hear him, and he's screaming, howling, 'please god don't let me be broken, I'll go mad –'


	32. Familliar Faces

**Puppet Master**

Chapter Thirty Two - Familliar Faces

There was a clock on the table of the nurses' station.

Had anyone ever checked the city's inventory they might have been surprised at the number brought from Earth, smuggled into socks or tucked amongst stacks of CD-ROMS. Aside from the military issue watches, which operated under their own, independent rules and were used only for the timing of action, other Earth based time pieces were next to useless.

There were no hours in Atlantis. The city's computers ran to a different scale, one determined by the travel of the planet beneath them, and one of the first jobs of the science department had been to synchronise the clocks of the SGC computers to run in partnership with their new home. It had been an excuse used many a time by McKay when confronted by a nagging Beckett. It wasn't that he didn't sleep, he excused, it was that Atlantis ran on a thirty hour day, and that the nights were shorter, and that technically he was acclimatizing.

Despite this many of the city's new inhabitants clung to the familiar, and the presence of clocks was a reminder of home. There was one on the wall of Heightmeyer's office, her own personal item, and Aiden had confessed to sleeping with one beside his bed. Enough people followed old rules to often necessitate specification when outlining a period or date, depending on whether a person was talking of Atlantis 'minutes' or Earth 'hours.'

Carson, Sheppard decided, had been talking in terms of Earth hours, and the only judge he had for that currently sat on the table at the nurses' station. He stared at the simple square, white affair with large green numbers that could be seen clearly from his seat, and two black hands. He sought comfort in their regular ticking, and watched the shadows move about the room.

According to the clock it was three in the early hours of the morning, though Sheppard had no way of knowing whether that referred to the time in Atlantis, in New York, or in Calcutta. The sky beyond the infirmary windows was dark, but not pitch black, a deep grey colour indicating either heavy cloud or an early dusk.

McKay was still unconscious. He had yet to regain any colour to his skin, pale and grey in the sterile light of the infirmary, although his breathing had evened out and the mask had departed several hours previously.

Beckett had stayed for a while, gone for sleep, then returned again. The face of the nurse routinely checking on McKay had changed three times. Teyla and Ford had been four times, the first two together, the third and fourth independently. Teyla confessed with honesty that she couldn't sleep, and Aiden excused that he'd been training, that he was hyped up on coffee, that he'd been watching old movies with Markham, that he was just passing.

The Lieutenant, Sheppard decided, was a terrible liar.

He hadn't moved from the chair once in all nine hours, except to take care of essential, intimate business. A nurse had brought him coffee, and several sandwiches had appeared during one of his naps.

He must have fallen asleep, because though it seemed he had only closed heavy lids for a second when he opened them there was Elizabeth, standing over him with a mug of something steaming in each hand.

"What?"

"I went to get soup," she reminded him, and passed him a mug.

He wrapped his hand around the pottery, heat seeping into his fingers. "Vegetable," he guessed, and sniffed. "Surprise."

"Kalpicum. A root vegetable, I've been told." She slipped into the chair beside him, resting the cup on her knee. "Has anything changed?"

"No." He yawned, and his jaw popped. "I wish he'd hurry up, this chair is doing little for my back."

"Carson offered you a cot," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but that's the easy option. The minute I lie down I'm ready to sleep for a week. I want to be there," another yawn, "when he wakes up."

"Ah."

"Familiar faces, Beckett said."

"True," she admitted, and took a sip of the soup.

Sheppard followed suit, burning his tongue on the hot liquid. He chewed dubiously for a moment and then relaxed. "Not bad. Could do with some salt."

"It's bad for you," she criticised.

"So is picking fights with an enemy who wants to suck the life out of me. I know which one I'd rather live with."

He saw her smile, and take a mouthful of the soup. "It does need more salt," she agreed, with a small smile.

Sheppard tilted his head from side to side, bones cracking audibly. "It's better than the meat broth from last week, " he said conversationally. "Those crunchy bits were disturbing."

There was no response. He looked up in time to see her smile falter.

"John –"

He followed her gaze down to the bed and saw his friend's fingers twitch.

The pot mug cracked against the floor where it fell, vegetable soup congealing quickly on the tiles.

"Beckett!"

Sheppard was over the bed, one hand on McKay's shoulder, the other gripping the bedrail. Carson appeared on the opposite side looking ruffled, waving his hands at Sheppard and ushering him to a distance.

"Come on, now." The physician glanced at the EEG monitor over his shoulder, and then looked back to the bed. "We know you're in there, now open your eyes for me."

McKay's lips parted and Sheppard caught a rasped jumble of words, an incomprehensible slur. He saw the scientist's eyes shift restlessly beneath his lids, his breathing quickening.

"That's right," Beckett encouraged. "Try to wake up. It's okay."

The lids cracked open enough for Sheppard to glimpse a flash of dim blue. Lips spoke around silent words, and a shudder rolled through McKay's body, his ankles jerking against the restraints.

Sheppard saw Elizabeth's hand wrap loosely around Rodney's. "It's alright," she soothed, and he realised there was a word missing.

No names. His insides knotted at the uncertainty.

Several words slipped from the jumble, a desperate: "please," and a softly keened: "I'm right here."

John's hand squeezed his friend's shoulder tightly. "We know," he said, his chest tightening at the terror in his friend's voice. "We know everything." And he prayed to any deity that might be listening, dear god, let this have worked.

Don't let me have failed him.

"No – you don't believe –"

"Yes." Another squeeze. "Yes we do. I've not lied to you yet, McKay, I'm not about to start now."

Slowly his words seemed to penetrate, McKay's eyes widening, his body stilling. Beckett instantly had his pen light out, flashing a bright beam into McKay's eyes and prompting a grimace and a whisper.

Sheppard, leaning closer to the bed, heard his words. He had to stop himself from falling, his knees suddenly weak.

"What did he say?" Elizabeth asked.

He lifted his head and grinned so wide it hurt. "Couldn't repeat it." He glanced at Beckett. "He was questioning the doc's parentage."

He saw a flush of warmth bloom across Weir's face as she broke out into a smile, the tension evaporating from her shoulders, and for a moment he was afraid he wasn't the only one close to falling. She swayed, and placed a steadying hand on the mattress. From across the bed he heard Beckett breathe: "Thank god," years dropping away from the Scot's face.

"John."

He looked down and saw, to a relief so intense it was painful, two slightly glazed eyes staring up at him. "Right here," he replied, firmly.

"You know that I –" McKay glanced at Elizabeth, his voice breaking. "That I'm –"

"That you're you?" He patted his friend's shoulder warmly. "Yup."

"We know," Elizabeth repeated, softly.

The physicist closed his eyes and Sheppard looked away, deciding he hadn't seen any tears.

"How do you feel?" Carson asked, his hands working at the IV plugged neatly into the back of McKay's hand.

"Road-kill," came back a whisper, cut off by a dry cough and then a reflexive swallow.

"Nauseous?" Beckett guessed.

The scientist shifted his head tiredly against the pillow.

"Ice chip," the physician decided, picking up a beaker from the beside table. "Just one. I want you to take it slowly."

Sheppard gave McKay's shoulder another pat, then stepped back, allowing the doctor room to work.

"What about anything else? Headache, chest pains –"

"Head." And it did not go unnoticed that McKay refused to look Carson in the eye, his jaw clenched tight.

The physician nodded, moving away from the bed. "I'll get you something for that. It will pass."

"Doc."

Beckett turned, and Sheppard gestured at the cuffs. "Keys."

The Scot smiled warmly. "My pleasure. I'll be right back."

Elizabeth was still standing beside the bed, resting her hands on the rail. "What do you remember?"

"Pieces." McKay's gaze shifted to a point several inches to the right of his onlookers. "Not much."

That was a lie. Sheppard let it pass.

Beckett returned with the keys and started neatly unlatching the cuffs from the bed. McKay rolled his wrists, flexed his fingers and then dropped his hands tiredly onto his chest.

"You need to rest," Beckett declared, and Sheppard noticed him place the cuffs on a table out of McKay's sight. "Get some sleep."

A flicker of fear passed across the scientist's face. "M'fine," but his eyes were already drooping, then fluttering back open as he fought the battle to stay awake.

"You look like crap," John told him, bluntly, though his voice was warm. "Do what Carson says."

McKay's eyes were now closed, the lines in his face easing, but his lips moved in another mumble. Sheppard translated for Elizabeth: "he says he doesn't need a babysitter."

Her frown faded. "Rest," she told McKay, placing her hand briefly over his for a moment, before stepping away from the bed. The scientist shifted against the mattress, then relaxed, his breath slowing.

So did Sheppard's. He suddenly felt the fuzz in his mouth, the stubble across his cheeks, the growl in his stomach and the ache in his lower back. "Sleep sounds really good right now," he announced, stretching his spine upwards and yawning.

"Very good," Elizabeth agreed. She dropped a hand onto the mattress and looked across at Beckett. "He seems to be –" And she stopped.

"In one piece?" Carson finished. "Aye, he does. Bloody miracle, if you ask me," he added. "When he next comes to I'll want to do some proper tests, check his short-term memory and speech –"

"He's alright," Sheppard interrupted, grinning, and turned to find it reflected by a tired looking Weir.

"Yes he is." She raised a speculative eyebrow. "So, Major, will you be sleeping in your quarters tonight, or playing house guest here?"

He stopped, glancing at Carson, who rolled his eyes and shrugged helplessly.

"I'll have a cot made up for you. God knows, you can't spend anymore time in that chair."

"I think it's starting to mould around me," Sheppard agreed. "A cot sounds good."

Carson shook his head and muttered something under his breath, before moving away from the bed.

Sheppard gave another grin and took a step closer to the bed. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Elizabeth, her smile gone, her expression a mix of relief, guilt, and sadness.

"John –"

He shrugged casually. "You were the one who made the choice."

"You talked me into it. If I hadn't –"

He encased her hand in his for a brief moment. "He's back. That's all that matters."

She took a deep breath and nodded, pulling away gently. "Get some sleep."

"You too."

"Yes." Elizabeth turned as if to go, then stopped, hovering hesitantly. "John."

He was almost about to drop onto the cot beside McKay, but stopped himself, half perched on the mattress.

"You were certain."

"I made a good show," he joked, uneasily.

"Maybe." She sounded doubtful.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth."

She nodded, lifting her shoulders and smoothing the creases in her uniform. "Goodnight, Major."

He shifted further back onto the bed so it bore his weight, easing some of the pressure from his back. He watched her leave, and wondered whether she knew the truth.

_A/N: He's back! You'd think that would be it, right? But hang on... I think there might be a few loose ends..._


	33. Egg Shells

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Thirty Three - Egg Shells

Two days in the infirmary, the first for convalescence, the second for observation. McKay, restless, had earned a brief reprieve through good behaviour, though the unusual quiet owed more to plain exhaustion than nobility. He slept for hours after first waking, falling into a deep and dreamless state described by Carson as real rest, not the strange languish in his own subconscious of the past week. A sluggishness persisted, his muscles aching and a pain behind his eyes. His throat was dry and scratched from where Kezan had screamed himself hoarse, and a glass of water sat on a table beside his wheelchair. On the balcony outside the infirmary, McKay dropped his chin to his chest and enjoyed the sensation of sun against his skin.

"Ah. Here you are hiding."

Inwardly he groaned, refusing to move in response to the Czech's greeting. "Slip through Carson's defences, did we?"

"He did his best," Zelenka admitted, stepping out into the sun. "I think he protects you. Not to be bothered by queries."

He cracked open one eye to glare at the newcomer. "And you didn't get the hint?"

"You think the worst of me." Radek shook his head and gave a disappointed sigh. "Sunshine, Rodney. That is why I am here. This has best view in entire city." And McKay saw the Czech had brought something with him, a flat packed, plastic deckchair which he neatly snapped open and placed on the floor.

"Where did you get that?"

"Ways and means." Radek winked theatrically. "I come to sunbathe," he announced, dropping into the deckchair and stretching out his legs. "The labs are stuffy, no air, no vitamin D."

"You couldn't find your own balcony," McKay growled.

Radek ignored him, craning back his head and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "This has maximum exposure."

"As long as you're quiet."

"Of course."

Silence settled, but it was uneasy and not to last. McKay counted under his breath, one, two, three –

"I hear about your argument with Dr Heightmeyer."

He would have stretched out a hand to swat the Czech had he the strength. "It wasn't an argument."

"No? You shouted at her." Radek fluttered his fingers.

"She should have expected it," he defended himself, weakly.

Observation, it seemed, required an actual observer, but the minute Kate had appeared around the curtain she'd faced a barrage of sarcastic snaps and his blazing fury.

"_Come to check on your lab rat?"_

"Carson had to rescue her before you snap her in two."

"Hardly." Though he could not deny a pang of shame.

Radek shrugged. "Same effect. You will not make yourself popular with the nurses."

Stating the obvious, McKay thought. They walked on eggshells around him – even Beckett was giving him an unusually wide berth. It suited him, made it easier to keep up the pretence at normality if there was no one around to prod him into the truth.

He spent the hours curled up in the bed, his face turned to the wall. Since the treatment his emotions were intense and disturbingly close to the surface, and afraid of any small thing tipping him over he stayed silent, lids closed over hot eyes and fighting an intense pressure in his throat.

He hated himself for feeling so weak, and felt even worse for the outbursts of anger at Heightmeyer and Beckett.

"Lieutenant Ford told me you don't remember anything."

He wasn't stupid enough to think that anyone bought his story of amnesia, but he wasn't about to admit the whole truth, either.

"I remember pieces."

"Anything clear?"

Every hour, every second, he replied silently. Even when Kezan was asleep, he was awake and aware of nothing. A void, and his own frustrated thoughts. And now he knew why prisoners held in solitary confinement might scrawl on the walls in their own filth. A scream, clawing at the cage around him, driven mad with desperation, ready to rip himself apart just for someone to see and –

"Not much," he replied tightly, and closed his eyes. He felt a quiver run down his arm and clenched his hand into a fist.

Zelenka pretended not to notice. "It is interesting. Kezan was aware of you, it seemed."

His mouth was dry. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I theorize that it might have worked both ways. He was in your head and also, you were in his. But," and Radek gave another loose limbed shrug, "you do not remember. It is shame."

His mouth ran unchecked before he could stop it. "It wasn't mutual giving, if that's what you mean."

Zelenka raised an eyebrow. "I do not understand."

"He –" Rodney stopped, hugging his arms across his chest. "If he wanted something," he said, his voice steeled, "he would take it."

Radek's eyes flicked towards him, then away. "The plan to return him to the device. That was not the only thing?"

"No," and he stopped, because his throat had closed up.

No, it wasn't the only thing.

Twelve years previously he'd been attending a conference in England when a sudden cancellation left him holed up in his hotel room with nothing to do but watch children's television. He'd seen a game show, a strange, fantastical role-play cooked up with some cheap special effects. He remembered little of the game, but one image had struck him as particularly chilling – far creepier than its timing might suggest. As the player progressed through the levels, facing new challenges and meeting new foes, his or her lifeline would be depicted in a small image in the top right of the screen. First, a rough cartoon of a human face to depict full life. Then piece by piece, the skin would melt away, leaving two eyes bulging from a yellow skull. Then the skull would fracture, and come apart – the jaw bone first, then a piece from the forehead, floating away into the dark until all that remained were two large eyes.

And then even they were gone, and the contestant was dead.

Game over.

_I ripped the memory from him_…

Piece by piece. And god, he had tried to fight him, to keep what he had as his and his alone, to maintain a sense of identity even as his very self fractured and fell apart, but now he wondered whether he'd lost…

"There is still the question," Zelenka continued, his tone thoughtful, "of what we do with Kezan now he is back in his, ah, box."

The words pulled McKay back to the present, and he shot a dark look at the Czech. "What do you think?"

Radek sighed. "I think that he once was human, and he has the right to be treated as such, no matter what. But I am not the one who decides."

"No." He turned his head away, looking out across the ocean, and changed the subject. "Thank you."

"For?"

"You know what."

"Ah." McKay imagined Radek was grinning. "My trip to the unknown?"

"Hardly that."

"But I risked life and limb, yes? The cliff almost came down."

"So I heard."

"Unsettling. But I am hero."

He smiled, and surprised himself. "Don't let it go to your head."

"No. There is only room for one ego in the department."

He didn't rise to it.

"When do you return to work?"

"A week." He might have protested, had he any desire to, but moving any great distance was an effort, and his head felt muddled, unable to concentrate on any one thing for long. McKay decided for once, Beckett was probably right.

Not that he was about to admit it.

He still appreciated Zelenka asking, however. It was a small, welcome step back to reality, and in work he hoped to bury all memory of the past week.

"I heard there was almost a coup."

Zelenka scoffed, shaking his head. "Kavanagh."

He grimaced. "I can imagine the rumours." McKay, finally cracked, gone potty, padded cell and straitjacket, always knew it, hadn't he said?

"He takes any opportunity to seize power," Radek explained, "but he cannot lead if no one will follow. You are more appreciated, Rodney, than you might think."

He shivered, and tried not to think of the past, pressing his hands hard against his chest.

"Still out here?"

Beckett had come through the doorway and now stood behind the two men, looking down at Zelenka in surprise. "Radek."

Zelenka yawned, and stretched his arms above his head, looking up into the sky. "The sun has gone," he said, with great disappointment. "It may rain."

"It's always raining," McKay pointed out.

"It only seems that way. It is a great optical illusion to keep us working all hours." He pushed himself up from the chair and then folded it neatly away. "I will find somewhere else," he told McKay, nodding a greeting at Carson.

"Good. You can leave me in peace."

"See?" the Czech said, with a note of wicked delight. "That is why you are favourite among the department chiefs, Rodney. So welcoming."

"Hah hah. Go back to work before Kavanagh really does stage a revolution."

He saw Zelenka grin, and heard him whistling a familiar theme as he departed.

Leaving McKay alone with Beckett.

"Les Miserables?" Beckett guessed.

"'Do you hear the people sing.' It's an in-joke."

"Oh," said Carson, clearly confused. "It's cold out here," he added, pointedly. "I want you inside, Rodney."

"In a minute," he retorted irritably, intense pain bursting across the back of his eyes.

He listened to Carson shift nervously. "Alright. A little while longer."

And he hated it. He hated the way that Beckett agreed to his wishes to the point where it was in danger of interfering with his recovery, with Carson taking the most thinly veiled of lies as the truth. He hated the way that both Carson and the entire medical staff were tiptoeing around him as though afraid the slightest wrong word could tip him over the edge and he'd shatter.

_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall…_

"Rodney –"

McKay sighed, irritably. "Look, Carson, how many times do I have to say it? You did what you thought was best."

"But –"

"And you had no way of knowing otherwise." He rolled his eyes, and said in words what he could not yet grasp in their whole. "I'm not telling you this because I'm getting horrendously sentimental. It's simple fact."

"God forbid," Beckett muttered, with a tinge of relief in his voice.

"Yes, well…" McKay drifted, looking away. _All the kings horses…_"Anything else is my problem, and I'm dealing with it, okay?"

Carson gave him a weak smile. "Can't do any better than that, I guess."

He nodded, his throat burning. Stretching out, his hand trembled, the glass he touched rattling against the table, and he set it down quickly, sloshing water across its surface. He drew his hand across his forehead shakily and closed his eyes.

"Rodney."

He felt Carson's touch on his shoulder, and pulled his arm back without thinking, bumping against the table. Opening his eyes, McKay saw guilt flash across his friend's face, an uncomfortable look masked quickly by professional concern.

But not quickly enough.

"Sorry," McKay rushed. He tugged at his fingers, tapping a nervous rhythm against his palm.

_Couldn't put Humpty…_

"Rodney…." Carson stopped, lost for words.

"I'm sorry. I'm…" He bit his lip, repeated softly, "sorry. You did what you thought was best, Carson."

"I was wrong," his friend replied sadly. He took a step towards the edge of the balcony. "You've got every right not to trust me, Rodney."

He shook his head too quickly, spots dancing before his eyes. "I'm just, ah, not feeling quite myself. It's the treatment. Like you said, it'll wear off." He rubbed at a spot on the back of his palm, digging his fingers under the bandages, then stopped with a slight sense of horror when he realised Beckett was staring.

"Rodney –"

He snapped. "You don't have to keep watching me anymore. I can cope."

Beckett raised his hands defensively. "I know you can." He hesitated again, while McKay studiously avoided his gaze, his fingers rubbing impulsively against the cloth on his hand.

Then Carson took a breath and resumed his doctor persona as though nothing had happened. "Just make sure you don't get too cold, and I'll have someone bring you in for your dinner. I still think you should see –"

"No," McKay said, sharply. "I'm not seeing her. I don't need to."

"If not her, then who?"

"I don't need to talk to anybody. I don't even remember anything."

And there it was, the lie that everyone seemed so eager to step around.

He heard Carson sigh heavily. "Alright." Then there were footsteps as the doctor returned to the door.

McKay continued to sit, leaning forward to push his head into his hands. He called out, his voice muffled: "Carson."

He heard the footsteps stop.

"I'm getting there." It was the best he could manage, weak and feeble, but at least, he reasoned, it was better than nothing.

He heard Carson give another sigh, this one soft and sad. "Stay wrapped up."

The door closed on him, leaving McKay under the clouds, still hunched over in his chair. He whispered to the ocean: "Sleep. Not overly likely, Carson."

To close his eyes and be so terrified of never waking up again…

He stared at the glass of water and extended one finger towards it slowly, giving it a small push. Then watched with abstract fascination as it tumbled from the table and smashed onto the floor.


	34. Loose Ends

_Author's Notes: Sorry for the slight delay between updates, a plot bunny bit me. If you feel like reading the results, then please do. Otherwise... I appreciate every one of you who has stuck with me this long! After this chapter there are two more to go, and then we're done._

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Thirty Four - Loose Ends

Two other patients shared the infirmary with McKay. Lieutenant Hartley lay two beds down from the door, her leg in a cast, propped up against a pillow and in deep discussion with her team mate Michael Gatley, who sat in a chair beside her. One of the scientists lay in the cot opposite, fast asleep and seemingly unharmed save for an ugly purple rash covering two thirds of his face.

Sheppard walked past them, pausing briefly to greet the two Lieutenants before moving to the bed in the furthest corner of the room. Curtains were drawn closely around it, and had been for the past two days. Carson hadn't objected, under the defence that it hampered the attempts of the other scientists to bother their leader with a variety of problems. Sheppard wondered at the concession but had chosen to make no mention of it to the Scot, although he'd seen the guilt, and the way McKay would tense every time Beckett approached.

He ignored the barrier as he had on every visit, deliberately scuffing his shoes against the floor as he approached to give his friend enough time to compose himself, but not to object. "McKay, you asleep?"

"If I had been, I wouldn't be any longer, would I?"

McKay sat on the edge of the bed, barefoot but clothed in loose fitting pants and a t-shirt he was pulling over his head.

Sheppard squinted at the fine print. "This was supposed to be the future. Where is my jet pack, my robotic companion –"

"Yes, yes, you can read." He tugged at the shirt sharply and glared.

"Carson know you're escaping?"

"No," McKay shot back, "and I intend to keep it that way. He's on his lunch. Pass me my shoes."

He blinked at the change of topic, then turned to where the physicist pointed. "He'll be pissed," he pointed out unnecessarily, picking up the shoes and handing them to McKay.

"Probably." The scientist's voice was muffled as he bent to pull them on. "I doubt he'll say anything. He's barely said a word since I woke up. I think he's feeling guilty about something but I can't imagine what."

He winced. "You're not being very fair."

"No, I'm probably not. Being wrongly diagnosed with schizophrenia tends to do that to a person."

"McKay –"

Rodney's shoulders slumped. "Alright," he admitted. "I know it's – it's not fair."

"None of this is," Sheppard agreed.

McKay ducked his head. "True. And I – I'll stop blaming him."

"If you want someone to blame," John suggested, "I suggest the walkway outside Kavanagh's quarters, a bucket of water, and a dozen of Beckett's best surgical gloves."

"Hmpf. It's an idea." He lifted his head sharply and stared at Sheppard. "Do you have it?"

"Please," he drawled, "McKay. It's all ready."

He received a satisfied nod in response. "Good. And nobody asked any questions?"

"Relax. The only one in there was Dr Kusanagi and she scarpered as soon as I told her Kavanagh wanted her. She's a little jumpy."

The scientist snorted derisively. "Jumpy? It's enough to be contagious. Even being around her makes me nervous."

"You owe her," Sheppard reminded him. "Her, Zelenka and Beckett."

"Fine." He took a deep breath. "I get it, alright? You'd never win any awards for subtlety, Major."

He shrugged. "Tact was never part of the job description."

Pushing up from the bed, McKay caught Sheppard's gaze briefly, then looked away. "You don't have to do this."

"I gave my word."

"It's my responsibility."

"Are we really going to argue about this?"

McKay stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Why I bother giving you a get-out clause…"

"Hey," Sheppard joked, following McKay as he moved through the infirmary, "like I can't find my own excuses."

"Oh, I'm quite sure you're capable of weasling your way out of anything," McKay said, conversationally. "That Sheppard charm will get you a long way. But not with Elizabeth."

"I can handle her."

He received only a sceptically raised eyebrow in response.

"Well, alright," he conceded. "But I'll talk to her, explain things. Plus by then it will be –"

"Too late?" McKay finished, grimly. "I'll need my tool kit."

"It's already there."

"Good." There was a pause. They stepped through the infirmary door, ignoring a surprised nurse, and started to walk down the corridor. "Where, exactly? I can't go to my lab, it's the first place Carson will look."

"I found somewhere." Sheppard placed a hand under the scientist's elbow and guided him firmly to the right, into a transporter alcove. The doors closed and he hit the control panel, lighting up a western section of the city on the display beside them. "You'll like it."

McKay tried to peer around Sheppard's hand at the map but was too slow to see anything. "As long as we won't be interrupted."

"Relax. They're not going to report you as AWOL to Carson for a while yet, and by the time they get around to looking for us we'll be long back." He paused, and glanced at McKay doubtfully. "How long will this take?"

"Not long."

"It took Zelenka –"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Please. That was entirely different. And I know what I'm doing. I should do, by now."

The transporter deposited them out into another corridor, this one dark and cold, untouched by power output from the city centre. The air felt fresh and cool, and the two men followed a chill wind to an open doorway and the sky outside.

"Oh," said McKay.

"Told you you'd like it."

"Thanks."

Sheppard gave a small, bitter smile. "You're welcome."

They stood beside one of the city's vast desalination tanks, but unlike the two that pumped water to the current inhabitants this one was clearly in a state of demise. A heavy layer of green mulch covered two thirds of the surface, delicate white flowers just beginning to lace between the leaves. Along its edges sprouted tall bulrushes and reeds. Birds circled above them, crying out to each other, wailing into the wind.

Sheppard watched his friend closely, trying to gage the man's emotions. For his part, he felt at peace with his choices, but he could not say the same for McKay. Rodney had barely spoken of his experience and John did not want to push, settling for guesses and half truths formed from the scientist's behaviour.

Though he was still worried. McKay had been unusually quiet since waking, particularly with the medical staff, and although a little of the snark and wit had returned to their conversations it felt stilted, as though the scientist was only making a gesture at normality.

But then, he thought, nothing about this was normal, and the question of whether something felt right to him was unimportant. His view wasn't the one that mattered.

"McKay –"

"Did you bring everything else?" McKay interrupted quickly, looking away.

"Over there." Sheppard led him along the side of the tank to the wider wall standing at the far end, between the city and the sea. The spires of Atlantis towered above them, sparkles reflected in the still water. "All boxed up, like you said."

"Of course. Even Zelenka knows it's more than his life is worth to touch my equipment."

He snorted. "You never learnt to share, did you, McKay?"

"It was never a module under Physics one-oh-one, no." Rodney snapped out a hand abruptly. "Any time you're ready."

He held his tongue, carefully pulling the alien device out from beneath his jacket and handing it to the scientist. Rodney gently took it from him and slipped it from the cloth bag Sheppard had placed it in for protection. Alarmed, John tried to snatch the object back, only for his hand to be slapped away.

"Be careful –" he admonished.

"Relax," McKay responded, fingering the metal with his fingers. "As much as I appreciate your concern, it's perfectly safe."

Sheppard saw the scientist's arm suddenly jerk involuntarily, almost causing him to drop the device. McKay clenched his free hand, trying to quell the spasm, and cursing when the tremors increased. Reaching out, Sheppard laced his fingers firmly around his friend's wrist and kept a firm grip as together they rode out the shakes.

"Side-effect," McKay said, between gritted teeth.

"I know."

"It'll pass." And it was, the tremor fading into a quiver, and then stilling.

Gently Sheppard loosened his grip and lowered his hand. McKay flushed and looked away, dropping down to sit awkwardly on the floor, concentrating on his kit.

Sheppard took a step back and looked out across the tank. "We should come out here more often," he mused. "Bring a picnic."

McKay didn't answer. John turned, watching his friend simply sit, still and quiet.

And that was _definitely_ not normal. He shivered.

"Look, Rodney, when you said before that I don't have to do this – the same goes for you. There's a choice."

"Not really." McKay took a deep breath. "I just need a minute."

"Right." Sheppard pushed his hands into his pockets and waited.

The sun was out, but there was a chill breeze and he shivered. The wind sent ripples across the water, and a flock of birds rose suddenly from the reeds, circling each other beneath the clouds.

"He lived beside a lake."

Rodney was looking away from him, down to his hands and the tools lying on the floor.

"Kezan?"

"His village stood on the shore of a lake, several miles from the main town. His father was a teacher, first to fifth graders, I think. After lessons he would go fishing, but Kelal was afraid of the water –"

"Kelal," Sheppard interrupted, quietly.

"His brother."

"The one he –"

"Killed. Typical, that of all the parts to his existence, the one I remember in most detail is that."

"You remember." He'd suspected, but hadn't said anything, fearing McKay would clam up.

"Bits and pieces. It's like I've been dreaming I was somebody else." He took a deep breath, and reached out for a thin file. "Its quite fascinating," he mused, working over the device with careful hands. "Essentially, the mind is nothing more than energy stored in our synapses, so in theory the idea of one person's memories being implanted into another person's –"

"No souls," Sheppard interrupted.

McKay looked up at him, confused. "What?"

"Souls, McKay. I know you're not an advocate of religion and hell, I'd be right behind you in the cue for atheistic damnation but," he shrugged, "I think there might be something in the idea of souls."

"Ghosts," the scientist said, very softly. Then he took another breath, and resumed work. "I suppose it's possible. Some unifying theme to the data contained within an entity, unable to be replicated in any copy. Given that the process of copying was so stupendously flawed, of course, the collection of information labelled as Kezan that was in my head was not the same as the collection that lived nine hundred years ago – and, I suppose –"

"So," Sheppard interrupted again, with a note of concern, "you're saying because Kezan had gaps in his memory, he had less of a soul than the original?"

"Please," said McKay, and rolled his eyes. "If you insist on using such poetic licence, then no, I'm not saying that, but –" He paused. "He is – was – a different person."

John took a step closer, his insides clenching. "Was."

"As in, will be described in the past tense."

Looking over McKay's shoulder Sheppard saw the device, now neatly parted into two halves, its innards of wires and silver open to the sky.

"The original," McKay continued, fingering the outside of the device absently, "died hundreds of years ago. But Kezan – the one inside my head – he knew. I'm not sure how but – he did."

"Never took you as the type to believe in ESP, McKay."

"I never believed in vampires, either. Until the Wraith." He shrugged. "Science is all about refining a theory, Major. Even dismissing it as fiction and starting again. Although," he added, "don't let that go any further. I do not need any free thinkers in my department. I've done my very best to stamp that out."

"And McKay's rule shall be law," Sheppard said, throwing a sloppy salute.

He was ignored. "There's been enough rebellion in the ranks already."

"You can handle Kavanagh."

"Oh, please. It's not even a challenge." He stopped. "Still…"

"McKay?"

The physicist shook his head. He straightened his back uncomfortably, and reached for a small glass bottle that stood beside the kit. "Let's get on with this."

Sheppard took a breath, watching his friend. McKay was pale, his jaw clenched tight, and there was a slight tremble to his hand as he uncorked the bottle.

He rushed out: "Rodney, I could do th–"

"I know, John. And –" There was a slight pause. "Thank you for the offer."

"Okay." He hesitated, wanting to say something, but unable to find the words. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

Slowly, and with intense concentration, McKay lifted the open bottle over the two halves of the device.

Sheppard heard his friend's breath catch in his throat as he tipped the bottle up.

The acid took a fraction of a second to hit the inner workings of the device, but the time seemed to lengthen painfully. It hit the silver and hissed, smoke rising from the chemical reaction as metal burned and boiled away.

A minute passed, and the hissing and smoke faded away, leaving only the liquid, ugly remains of tarnished silver.

When Sheppard tried to speak a moment later he found his throat dry and harsh, and had to swallow several times.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"He –"

"He's gone."

"Oh." It didn't seem real, that such a simple action, over in seconds, could take a person's life.

Except, Sheppard realised, it had never been a life in any real sense.

"You okay?"

"Fine." McKay's shoulders dropped a little. "I wouldn't mind – I'd rather have a minute."

"Sure." He lingered for several seconds.

Rodney turned towards him, his blue eyes oddly shadowed and empty. "I haven't thanked you yet."

"For this?"

"For talking to him."

"I just did what you asked."

"But if you hadn't – I'm not sure what would have happened. He was afraid, desperate. You gave him your word. It was the only thing I – he – could trust."

Suddenly John understood, saw with perfect clarity why he had been so confident that the transfer would work, that Kezan would do as he had sworn to do when the chance was offered. Why, in the infirmary, despite Carson's angst and Elizabeth's doubts, he had known with certainty that McKay would be returned whole and unharmed.

"I – " McKay stumbled over the words. "He trusted you because I do."

Sheppard opened his mouth to say something, but was at a loss. "It's – it's mutual, McKay. Always has been."

The scientist looked away quickly, mumbled: "Thanks."

There was an awkward pause.

"Right," Sheppard breezed, "so I should go. Just be back before Carson sends out the search parties. I don't want to face his interrogation."

"Agreed."

"And look, McKay, if you want to talk –"

"I know where you are."

"Right," he said, uneasily. Reluctantly John stepped away, but his gaze lingered on his friend. McKay sat awkwardly with his legs drawn up to the side, staring down at the ruined remains of what had once contained a life.


	35. Honesty

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Thirty Five - Honesty

Zelenka had been the one to find the device missing.

He had arrived in her office with a strange expression on his face, and said simply: "It's gone." When asked, Radek assured her he had not spoken of the empty shelf to anyone other than herself. As far as he could judge it had been missing for little over twenty minutes. She waited in her office for another twenty before rising and seeking out McKay.

Now, with the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across Atlantis, Elizabeth waited for Sheppard to find her. She stood on the balcony and enjoyed the sensation of cold metal beneath her arms, and thought of a hundred lifetimes spent trapped, abandoned, and alone.

"Elizabeth."

She pressed her lips together and turned. Sheppard stood in the doorway, looking a little grim-faced but determined, giving her a boyish smile that didn't meet his eyes.

"Fancy meeting you out here."

She gave a sigh. "I was beginning to wonder whether to expect you."

"Yeah, well…" He stopped, and looked briefly down the floor. "I guess you know –"

"What you've done?" she finished. "Yes John, I know."

"Have you spoken to McKay?"

"Yes."

She had found Rodney in his quarters. He had greeted her with a guilty flush and a defiant: _"I'd do it again."_

Elizabeth had explained that she agreed, that she understood. And she wanted him to know that, she needed him to know that. She had apologised for him going through it alone, and he had looked at her, and replied that he hadn't.

"Ah." Sheppard flushed guiltily, then lifted his head. "It was the right thing to do," he said, jaw firm. "And don't blame McKay. I made the decision."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Did you do it?"

"Well…" he floundered, "science isn't my speciality."

"No."

"But I made it possible."

"Yes," she replied, allowing a note of reproach to enter her voice. "You did."

"I couldn't let him do it alone."

"I wasn't suggesting you should," she said, deliberately. Because Rodney was her friend too, friend and family member, and she hated feeling helpless.

So she had done the only thing she could think of.

"_They're files of Major Carter's. I found them when we were looking for explanations of what was happening to you."_

He had taken the folder from her with a confused expression. _"I don't understand."_

"_She's a friend of yours, isn't she?"_

"_Comrades."_

She had smiled, and closed her hand over his briefly. _"Just read the file, Rodney. You might find it… interesting." _

"Elizabeth –"

She turned back to Sheppard, and challenged him: "You lied to me."

"Well," Sheppard ducked his head sheepishly, "I never actually –"

She wasn't so easily dissuaded. "We talked about Kezan's future, about trying to help him, and all the time you were planning this. I wanted advice, John, and you deceived me."

He lifted his chin, abandoning his attempt at charm. "Not entirely. I told you I wanted to help him. It was just in a different way."

She shook her head quickly. "Help him?"

"It was what he asked for."

"John, he was ill, delusional –"

"He knew what he wanted," he shot back. "Nine hundred years trapped in that, that nothing, his original body six feet under? It was a decision any one of us would make." He took a step towards her, softening his voice. "Elizabeth, treat this like it is."

"A mercy killing," she said, suddenly feeling very, very tired.

"He should have died nine hundred years ago."

"I'm not sure that he didn't." She leant back a fraction, allowing the bars to take some of her weight. "You did this the wrong way, John. You went behind my back and negotiated with a person whilst Rodney was held hostage."

"It was hardly that –" he began to object, then stopped, and corrected: "Well, maybe it seems like that but –"

"You should have told me."

He dropped his head. "I couldn't let you make that decision."

"Why?" she asked, clenching the rail. "If you think that my position –"

"No," he interrupted quickly. "That wasn't it. Look, Elizabeth, you heard Heightmeyer. Talking of Kezan's past, his emotions. I don't know whether you could call him a person or – or what word you'd use. But I had to make a choice between his existence and McKay's and I made that decision because…" Sheppard faltered, then finished: "because you shouldn't have to."

Elizabeth turned her head to look at him. "What if it was the wrong choice?"

"It wasn't," he replied, firmly. "Kate can debate the moral implications if she likes, but I know – it wasn't wrong."

She took a deep breath and released it slowly, nodding. "No. You're right. I just wish you and Rodney had come to me before taking action."

He winced, but explained: "You'd have to tell Zelenka, and probably that Doctor Kusanagi, and Carson, and then Heightmeyer, and she'd be questioning McKay on his actions –"

"That's not necessarily a negative thing," she objected.

"McKay knows how Kezan felt. If you want proof that we did the right thing then just ask him."

"I don't need to," she said, quietly. "I would have agreed with you. But you still should have come to me."

Sheppard lifted his eyes to look at her, and nodded slowly. "Maybe we should have."

It wasn't quite an apology, but Elizabeth realised that she wasn't searching for one. She turned back to the sea, waiting for him to join her. He followed a second later, resting his elbows alongside hers on the rail.

There was a long silence as Elizabeth watched the waves lap the base of the city she now called home. She could hear birds circling above them, the white headed, big black gulls, cawing eagerly at each other.

"How does he seem to you?"

"McKay?" He shrugged. "He's okay. Needs some time to sort some stuff out, but he'll be alright."

"Carson's worried Rodney won't talk to him."

"I'm working on that."

"Good." She looked down at her hands, and thought of the way McKay's gaze had drifted down to her neck. She visualised the bruises in the mirror, yellow and green mottled smudges in the shape of a familiar hand.

"_I'm sorry, Elizabeth – I tried -"_

"He seems…" she paused, "he needs to know that this wasn't his fault."

"I know." He pushed himself to lean heavily on the rail. "He'll get there." He glanced at her. "I'd like him back on the team. Since there's nothing wrong with him –"

"Understood," she replied, understanding. "But John – moving on from this, it's a noble idea but possibly not the best one. I don't just want him to have to cope –"

"Elizabeth," he interrupted, firmly, "you don't have to worry."

She considered him for a long moment, then allowed herself a small smile. "Is this more of that Athosian faith Teyla has been teaching you?"

He gave another shrug, but this one was carefree and loose limbed. "Maybe. Some of that. Plus, it's McKay. He's more than he gives himself credit for."

"Not in all respects," she needled, gently.

"True. When he starts yelling at Zelenka and referring to his staff as monkeys with typewriters, then we'll know its business as usual." He took a breath, and looked up towards the sky. "Sun's out," he remarked, casually.

She turned to look at the city vista spreading out to her left, high towers and crystal sparkling in the light. "It's beautiful."

He followed her gaze upwards. "Yes it is."


	36. Back Together Again

**The Puppet Master**

Chapter Thirty Six - Back Together Again (Put Me)

McKay fled the city.

Fleeing was the only accurate word for it. Visits from Carson, Kate and then Elizabeth had left him feeling overwhelmed and claustrophobic. He had flown his room and now found himself on the East Pier, where only days previously Kezan had run, hiding from imprisonment. The night air was crisp and cool, and the lights of the city were reflected in the water. McKay followed the pier out to its end, where the metal floor dipped into the sea. It was there he waited, surrounded by papers, flames, and only his voice in his head.

At some point, he supposed, he would have to give Kate more than monosyllabic responses. But worse than the sense of betrayal was the confusion, and his inability to articulate any of what he had experienced.

At first there had been whispers in his head, and the world was different, as though skewed slightly to the left of the way things should be. Then there were memories, thoughts of past events which had never belonged to him. Remembering a brother he never had and a planet he had never been to. But he hadn't told Carson, and when he blacked out in the lab McKay blamed it on sleep deprivation.

Then the next time he had awoken to confinement. Unable to move, to speak, to do anything but scream silently at the world outside and see his body and voice act and speak in ways he could not control. Then being aware of something else, of thoughts that weren't his own.

And then thinking back a reply…

He still slept reluctantly, afraid of waking into the same prison. Then of having his own memories ripped apart, of the wall around his identity being torn down until he could barely remember his own name and feeling so lost and hideously alone until –

Until slowly they had returned, along with an apology, and a plea.

McKay shivered, and drew a little closer to the flames, concentrating on the art forming beneath his fingers.

He knew Sheppard would find him, but it took a little longer than he had predicted. He heard the man's footsteps along the metal pier but didn't look up.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, you know," he shrugged, "passing the time."

"By making paper boats and – "

"And setting them on fire, yes." McKay pushed another creation out into the water and lit the top alight. Flames caught the paper and sparkled in the waves.

"Okay." Sheppard hovered uncertainly.

"They're my medical records. My psychological reports, dating back for the entire time I've worked at the military." He prodded the ship out into the sea with one end of the taper. "Kate gave them to me."

"So you decided to set them on fire?"

"She suggested it, actually. Although the boats were my idea. She said it might be cathartic."

"And is it?"

"No, not particularly," he admitted. "Fun, though." Abandoning the ship to the waves, McKay turned and selected another sheet of paper. His hand shook, and he closed his fingers into a tight fist, shutting his eyes and riding out the tremor.

"You okay?" Sheppard asked, taking a step closer.

"Fine." After several moments his hand stilled, and he opened his eyes. "They're getting easier. Carson says that in a couple of days I'll be fine." He gestured at the paper. "Want to help?"

"Sure." Sheppard dropped to his knees, squatting, taking up a seat beside his friend. He picked up a piece of paper and started folding it into neat creases. "You know Heightmeyer will have kept copies of these?"

"Oh, I know." McKay flashed a smile. "But she thinks I don't, so let's keep it like that." Then he added, looking down at the flames, bobbing about in the sea, "She was only doing her job."

"I guess."

"She thought I was crazy. Probably," he admitted, "because I was acting crazy. Since it's her job to notice that kind of thing. She did what she thought was best."

"Did Elizabeth –"

"Yes." He glanced at Sheppard. "You survived, obviously."

"She was okay. Mostly mad at me for not telling her the whole truth from the start."

"So your charm wins again."

"Actually, despite my obviously winning ways - I think it's because she would have made the same choice." Sheppard took the taper and carefully lit his boat. The flames caught quickly, and the gentle waves carried his creation out to the sea. "So I'm still on duty. And so are you."

He looked up, surprised. "Now?"

"A couple more days. Enough time to work, ah – stuff out of your system."

He nodded, and flexed his hand, stretching his fingers. "A fair point."

"Hmm." Sheppard was looking at him through slitted, suspicious eyes. "You're agreeing with Beckett's diagnosis. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Fine," he retorted, though he felt the edge of a smile. "But it would hardly do to be up to my elbows in the middle of an Ancient computer when I had a, a –"

"Moment?" Sheppard suggested.

"Precisely."

"You could blow us all to kingdom come."

"Overkill, Major. But it wouldn't be sensible. Besides," he continued, picking up wad of the papers, "I'm rather enjoying it being a spectator sport. Kavanagh seems to have built himself quite the dictatorship and Zelenka is taking great pains to rip it apart. Here," he added, passing the wad to Sheppard, "hold this."

"Huh." Sheppard held the papers out obediently while Rodney picked up the taper and carefully set the edge alight. The flame caught after a moment, the corners turning crisp and black while a deep orange consumed inwards.

He watched the flames for a long moment, mesmerised, until Sheppard dropped the burning remains into the ocean.

There was silence for a while.

"It wasn't Kezan's fault." McKay looked down at his hand, at the skin hidden beneath white bandages and itching, persistently. A constant reminder. "Living like that, being trapped like that…" He stopped.

"Not anymore."

"No." It didn't feel as reassuring as he thought it should be. Just sad, and empty. He changed the subject. "You know," matter-of-factly, "It's not like this is the first time this has happened to me." Glanced at Sheppard, and then back to the ocean. "People thinking I'm, ah," gestured vaguely, "psycho."

His friend winced at the term. "That's not exactly –"

"PC?" He shrugged. "Sticks and stones." Looked across to the waves, crashing against Atlantis.

"It's not in your records."

"It's there." Another vague wave. "Juvenile record. It's locked. I don't think even Carson has access." He stopped, then rushed out with: "I was eleven. My parents were going through a messy divorce, fighting over every penny. I wasn't exactly handling it well."

Sheppard glanced at him, but said nothing.

"I acted out." He gave another shrug. "Not my proudest moment." McKay turned his head slightly to shoot a look at Sheppard, then dropped back to the ocean. "I set fire to my tree house."

This was greeted with a snort of laughter. McKay lifted his head to stare at the Major, dismayed.

Sheppard sobered quickly. "Sorry. Guess my mind was leaping to conclusions," he explained, apologetic. "Some not so great images. But blowing up your tree house? Kind of relieving. It's more, _you_, McKay."

A smile flitted across McKay's face. "Never thought of it like that. I suppose it wouldn't be the first time, either. Science experiments as an eight year old can be a little messy."

"They can get messy now," Sheppard pointed out.

"True." His expression darkened, and he resumed his gaze back out across the sea. "My parents weren't so, ah… they were alarmed. A juvenile pyromaniac for a son. They overreacted. Rushed me off to some overqualified specialist who slapped me with an ADHD label and gave my parents a handful of different prescriptions to try. I decided it was better to stop setting fire to things, my parents forgot about the pills as soon as I'd straightened out, and that was that."

Finding himself lost for words, Sheppard grasped onto the first phrase he could. "They were doing what was best for you."

"No," McKay responded coldly, "They weren't." He stopped himself from going further, wondering why he had said so much, dropping the unfinished boat to the wet walkway and hugging his arms across his chest.

"I just –" he stopped, then began again: "Is it that easy to believe I could go –"

"Wacko?" Sheppard supplied. "No. Well," he flashed a grin, "no more than usual."

"Hah hah." McKay pushed his hands beneath his arms. "Seriously."

"Seriously? It was the last possibility."

"But once you have eliminated the impossible," he quoted, "whatever remains, however improbable –"

"I know," Sheppard interrupted. "I get it. But it's not entirely true, McKay. There was an explanation that fit. Didn't mean we were going to give up looking for an alternative."

"You did what was best," he repeated, hollowly.

"We all were. We just got it wrong. Really, badly wrong."

McKay addressed his collar. "You figured it out eventually. And I know Beckett was…" He stopped, and retried: "I get it, y'know? Logically, I get it. It's just, ah, it's just going to take a little longer to…" He faltered, lapsing back into hand gestures.

There was a brief, awkward silence.

"Look, Rodney –"

He looked up apprehensively. Sheppard was staring at the sparks as they were slowly extinguished by the water beneath them. He wore a strange expression, a mix of guilt and grief and something McKay couldn't quite place.

"My father –" Sheppard stopped, took a breath, then started again. The explanation came in staccato pieces. "He was in a military hospital. Before he died. Alzheimer's, amongst other things. Didn't recognise me. Wouldn't –" And another pause.

Rodney flushed, and looked away. "John –"

"My dad," Sheppard interrupted firmly, as though determined to get the words out, "he and I, we were never close. He was a good man, a fine solder, but not much of a father. But I was still the only thing he had and I wasn't about to forget that, even if he had."

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the sudden heat of Sheppard's gaze on him.

"Point is – you don't do things alone. That's not what we do. Not here, not ever."

He flinched, and stared at the floor intently, bunching his shoulders defensively. "I know that." There was a short silence. McKay lifted his head to find Sheppard had his head cocked to one side and was looking at him critically. "I know," he repeated, firmly.

Sheppard stared at him for a moment more, then gave a satisfied nod and turned away.

"I remember," McKay added, quietly.

"What?"

"He let me watch, Major. When you went to speak to him. Kezan let me see."

Strapped down to the infirmary bed, unable to control his movements, but able to see, and to hear. His voice had spoken and he had seen John, sat in a nearby chair, his expression tightly controlled and anger seething behind his eyes.

"_So I came. Talk to me."_

"_He s-says you can be trusted. That y-you'll do what needs to be done."_

"_Depends on what you're asking."_

"_To let me go."_

And to feel Kezan's loneliness, and pain, and grief, bound up in a plea over nine hundred years old. Begging so hard it hurt.

"Oh," Sheppard said simply.

"We made the right choice."

"There's no doubt from me."

Rodney nodded slowly. "None from me, either."

There was another pause.

Sheppard straightened, rolling his shoulders and wincing. "It'll be good to have you back on the team. Zelenka is a poor replacement."

He huffed. "Of course. Like I could be replaced."

"Never," Sheppard promised him. "And besides, it would take too long to mould him. I've only just got you housetrained."

"Oh please," McKay retorted, "I think if you'll look closely you'll realise that it's I who have been training you, Major."

"You wish."

McKay shifted so his back was propped up against a railing, and looked out across the ocean, tension easing from his shoulders.

"So…" Sheppard cast him a sideways glance. "You going to be okay?"

He considered the question thoughtfully. He thought of Kezan, and his desperate desire for silence. He thought of trying to sleep, terrified of waking up trapped and gagged. He thought of screaming with no one to hear. And then he thought of the guilt behind Carson's eyes, and the man's gentle ministrations in a hospital bed. He thought of Teyla, Ford, and Peter, keeping a vigil in a nearby room, and thought of Zelenka, risking life and limb to grasp at the impossible. He remembered the warmth of Elizabeth's hand against his ankle, and the strength of Sheppard's grip around his wrist.

And he thought of Samantha Carter, and a Tok'ra named Jolinar, and what he would say to her if he could.

"Yes," he replied, simply. "I am."

_**The End**_

_A/N: Thanks to every single person who stuck with me through this, and particularly everyone who was kind enough to review. Belisse, Szhismine, Porthos1013, Out of Phase, EmergencyFan, Cryogenie, Jen, and everyone else - you all get a chocolate covered Czech scientist to play with. But begood enough to give him regular exercise and feed him plenty of greens._


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